baby daddy

“He didn’t eat much today,” the babysitter told us. “It’s not like him.”

And it wasn’t. It’s not like you to not eat, little dude. It’s your favorite thing. It’s what you do best, and like all people who enjoy one thing or another, you always let us know your enjoyment by puking it up all over our clothes. And the couch. And the floor. And the carseat. And in the tub. (A little side note, here: When your mama carries you around she keeps an eye out for your tell-tale “I’m-gonna-puke” signs — hiccups, burps, that odd noise that rises in pitch coming from your throat — and moves quickly to the kitchen floor, where you normally make a wide splatter.)

You came home and kept up the strange behavior: you weren’t responding to us, and you kept sucking on your thumb. You ate just fine, but all the noises we made (and trust me, we made some noises. Your grandpa is hard of hearing and I’ve constantly worried that somehow, some way it would transfer to you, but you’ve passed all your hearing tests thus far, and you’ve always responded to the sounds around you, except this time) caused no alarm in you.

I figured you’d gone deaf.

Your mother’s been worrying about ear infections for weeks now and all your behavior has mirrored the descriptions in the books: decreased appetite, seeming loss of hearing, fussiness.

We weren’t sure if the doctor’s office was the correct route, especially since you’d been very responsive the morning we took you to daycare. We decided to let it go one more day.

The next day, upon picking you up, the daycare lady said: “He’s still not eating much. And he looks skinnier. It’s weird.”

So I took you home, finding ways to prepare your mama for a trip to the doctor’s office, well after visiting hours. I talked with you, played with you, changed your clothes and diapers, and fed you.

And somewhere in all that, I think I’ve found the culprit — the monster behind your behavior: The Little White Nubbin beginning its rise from your gums. A TOOTH!

It’s no wonder you’ve been behaving so strangely. You’ve got a rock in your mouth! You’ve got a calcium deposit erupting from your softest tissue! It’s slowly pushing its way into your mouth and you’ve no clue as to what the hell’s going on. I told you it was a toof! and you smiled, but then you stuck your hand in your moth. I said toof! and you smiled again, but there was that hand again.

You must be in a lot of pain, little guy, but you don’t really let anyone know. Guess that’s what we get after letting you poop blood for a month or two. For you, this must not be serious pain. You’re taking it very well and handling yourself with aplomb.

Nevertheless, we, as parents, need to celebrate this, and so I went out and bought you a gift in recognition of this achievement. It’s a bouncy-chair-thing, where you can pretend to stand up, and where you can bounce around. It’s full of toys and noise and I truly hope it will help take your mind off that unbearable pain in your face.