Week 6 Day 4: Living la vida boca

It was, as Stacy dubbed it, an 8 Tooth Day for poor Henri. Dude lost 8 teeth during his dentistry today. Most of them are in the front so it's basically like he's lost his smile. And goddamn this makes me sad. The vet said it's not really a big deal and assured me it wasn't my fault, but his crooked toothy grin is gone for good. Stacy pointed out that as Henri is losing teeth Gavin is gaining them, but Gavin has a lot of catching up to do if his mouth is going to any way compensate for Henri's in some kind of parallel tooth universe. Oh, and they gave me Henri's teeth. While the vet tech was giving me instructions about his medicine and food and such, she asked if I'd like to have his teeth "for the tooth fairy" as she held up a tiny blood-spattered zip lock bag. I said sure, because I didn't know what I was supposed to do, and she made the tooth fairy comment with a completely straight face like this was the most normal thing in the world to save your dog's excavated chompers and only a monster would refuse such an opportunity.

I think the tooth fairy ritual is weird for humans, let alone dogs. I never really bought the whole "there's a lady in a tutu who sneaks into your room at night and takes your tooth out from under your pillow and leaves you a dollar" thing. I mean, Santa: check. Fat guy, red suit, hauls toys into your house through your chimney and puts them under the tree in your living room. Likes cookies. That made sense to me (especially the eating nothing but cookies thing). But the tooth fairy? That was too weird. I mean, what was in it for her? And also, Santa didn't get all up in your personal space while you slept to nab a former part of your skeletal system. That's, like, Jeffrey Dahmer territory. In any case, there will be no leaving Henri's former teeth under his pillow as he sleeps. Besides, he'd probably just eat them. So for now Henri's ex-teeth are in my purse, a little bag of sadness for the gal on the go.

After Gavin and I dropped Henri off at the vet we headed over to the library for Baby Time. We were actually early this week so after getting Gavin out of his Winter garb we sat at the little kids' table and read a book called That's Not My Mermaid. Gavin has That's Not My Monkey at home. (And he's getting That's Not My Bear for Valentine's Day. Shhh. Don't spoil it). They're the kind of books with different things to touch and feel on each page. For example, on one page the mermaid has a shiny scaly tail and on another page another mermaid has fuzzy blonde hair. Gavin hasn't quite caught on to the concept of these books yet. Although he's very interested in textures right now (he loves to scratch his fingernails on different surfaces: the arm of the couch, the rug, his head, my face, etc.) books still evoke a "I can put it in my mouth" response. Turning pages, focusing on specific parts of those pages, not flinging the book across the room: these things are beyond him yet. But we'll get there.

While we were waiting for Baby Time to start some of the other moms and kids starting coming in. A couple of girls who have clearly aged out of Baby Time came with their mom and baby sister. The older of the two girls made a bee line for Gavin. He was sitting on my lap and I was sitting in the little dwarf chair, so she actually kind of towered over us. Or at least that's how I remember it. She had this look on her face that said, "Aww, cute baby," but I have to be honest that the closer she got the more apprehensive I got. Because I could tell she was unclean. And I feared she'd touch my child and I would have to spray him down with Lysol. Other peoples' kids gross me out. Having a child of my own has not made me more tolerant of child-related filth. His filth I can deal with -- precisely because I can deal with it. Other children's filth: no. This girl's nose was running and her pink shirt was visibly dirty. I mean, come on, it's not even 9:15 in the morning and your clothes are dirt streaked like you've been playing outside during the summer? And aren't you old enough to wipe your own nose instead of using your tongue like a windshield wiper? She was 4, by the way. I know this because I said something to Gavin about "the little kids" playing next to us, meaning this particular girl and a boy named Henry from the Baby Time group, and she looked at me like I was a retard and said, "I'm four." Thankfully she didn't try to touch Gavin.

On the library kids' table there are lots of wooden puzzles. The last time we were there Gavin was sucking on one of the pieces while I was talking to another mom and I believe he did damage unto that poor duck or swan or whatever it was. And so today I wouldn't let him put the pieces in his mouth. As soon as it headed there I'd gently redirect it and say, "Not for mouths," which I stole from Rosemary. It's becoming more and more necessary to say "no" to him lately. Not that he's ever really been able to do whatever he wants whenever he wants. He's always been a willful dude, but as he gets older he can actually use his physical power and new skills to exert his will, whereas before he was completely dependent upon Stacy and I to meet his needs and was powerless to stop us from, say, putting on his coat (something he really, really doesn't like) or changing his diaper. Now when something is happening that he doesn't like he fights back. Like when I was trying to snap the top of his pajamas closed the other day and he was pushing my hands away and screaming like a crazy man. What he wanted was a boob in his mouth. What I was doing was ruining his life. It's pretty black and white for six month old. There's really no reasoning with him: Bear, if you'd stop flailing and batting at my hands, snapping you up would take a seconds, but because you're acting feral, this is taking minutes, and these minutes feel like hours for both of us.

In any case, working on refusal is the new game around here. This is necessary as I feed him -- he wants to "hold" the container (really "hold" means yank it out of my hands, put his mouth on it and throw it on the floor) or the spoon and I have to say, "Nope, that's not how it works right now." And then I wait for him to open his mouth like a very chubby baby bird and shovel another helping in. Or I wait for him to scrunch up his face and clamp his lips shut to tell me he is so over this shit.

I also had to tell him "no" today about the ribbon attached to the new balloon I bought him at the dollar store. (I know, I know. Wasn't Henri traumatized enough for one day? But I've put the balloon in the bathroom and Henri's okay right now.) We stopped there after getting a new spindle of blank CDs from Staples. That is not exciting, I know, but what makes this worth mentioning is that this was our second outting of the day. We got home from Baby Time, Gavin napped for almost two hours, we ate lunch and then we went out. Unfortunately he fell asleep in the car on the way home and then missed his second nap of the day which is not ideal. But leaving the house IS ideal. So hooray for us.