Week 8 Day 2: Funky hematoma

There's some hardcore teething going on in Gavin's mouth right now. Mid morning he was on his back on the floor and when he opened his mouth I saw a bluish mark on his gums. It looked like he'd sucked on a blue marker, though I knew that wasn't possible because a) I know to keep such things out of his reach and b) his hand-eye coordination is good, but not that good. Surely there would have been marks on his cheeks and hands and chin and eyelids, etc.

"Lemme see that," I say, reaching toward his mouth. This, of course, is his cue to clamp his mouth shut and refuse even a modicum of cooperation. "Dude, I need to look inside your mouth." After a bit of wrangling I see that there is, indeed, a purplish hue right where one of his top front teeth would be if he had top front teeth. "Does that hurt?" I ask, and then touch it because I am, you know, a doctor. He doesn't seem bothered by it and I make a mental note to Google "teething" during his nap.

But then I don't. I forget. I also run out of time. For one thing, it became increasingly obvious as the day went on that I am coming down with a cold (awesome!) and so I kind of veg out after I throw a load of laundry in and put the dishes away. And Gavin's first nap was piss-poor. He slept for almost an hour, not the heavenly two hours he needs and I desperately want. Alas.

The hours between his first and second nap were long. He was cranky, never quite satisfied with his position or activity. There was a lot of carrying going on (and with Gavin clocking in at about 22 lbs. that's pretty much the equivalent of me doing prison chain gang labor). I hold out as long as I can for his next nap lest I put him to bed too early, but not before verifying that he probably has a gum hematoma (do not do a Google image search for this term) and his top front tooth and/or teeth are a-comin'. Poor Bear, I think. And then, Poor Stacy. He's already bitten her and all he's got are two bottom teeth. Soon he'll have a set of chompers to work in tandem on my poor wife's hoots. The plan is to breast feed him until he's a year old. We'll see if they make it (and I say "they" because I am not part of this equation or decision. It is in no way mine).

One of the many activities we engaged in was a combination of Playing on the Floor With Toys and Listening to Mama D sing along with early Dionne Warwick (the Burt Bacharach stuff is her best. He really is the best pop music composer ever). Gavin is a good audience, for the most part, looking up occasionally when I do hand gestures and finger points along to the music or sing a particularly loud part. Mostly he's humoring me, but I don't really need more than that. It's slightly more gratifying than singing alone in my car, which is how I usually roll.

Stacy had to work late and so it was up to me to bathe the Bear tonight. Feeling, as I do, like my head is slowing expanding and my throat closing, I was less than enthusiastic about this. I was running out of energy and it takes coordination and alertness to clean a wet squirmy baby. Protocol around here is co-tubbing, which means getting in the tub with Gavin because no bath chair will hold him and he's too unstable to sit there himself. I'd been drinking a lot of liquids today and as soon as we got in the tub I felt a strong urge to pee. I am happy to report that I did not. Gavin peeing in the tub during a bath is one thing, his mom is another.