So, we’re into our 8th day/night of broken sleep. G is apparently growing a sizeable boulder in her mouth, not the teeny tiny, surprisingly sharp little tooth that we can feel. It must be like an iceberg – lots happening under the surface. Do you know that teething HURTS? LOTS and LOTS and LOTS?
Although we’re knackered, it’s hard to be annoyed because it can’t be a pleasant experience for a baby. It’s horrible to listen to your child wailing in pain and there’s a limit to what we can do to help her. Having said that, G is rather prone to exaggerating her pain to achieve maximum sympathy – every sniffle for her is the equivalent of man-flu so she was hardly going to sail through the teething process. I don’t know how R, who sleeps in the same room as G, sleeps through it. We can hear G screeching and wailing and there are two doors and a landing between us and her.
At times like this the Magic Roundabout theme tune lodges itself in my brain and refuses to leave until I’ve had one night of decent sleep. It starts off as the nice, slightly trippy soundtrack that it is and slowly becomes a distorted, surreal wail of terror. 99% of the time I like the roundabout – it’s a slightly bonkers but quite fun ride but the 1% of nightmarish hell I could happily live without