Josh is teething, which is not fun. But on the bright side, at least I know it this time. Believe it or not, I failed to recognize the signs of teething in both of the other boys until we were WEEKS, maybe even a month or so into the process. It is one of the low points of my parenting career that I found my (pregnant with Drew, very morning sick) self screaming at a fussy 9-month-old Cade, "What is WRONG with you!?!??!" Only to realize a few days later that what was wrong with him was that he had two teeth simmering under the surface of his gums. Oops.
I didn't do much better with Drew and questioned why was waking up 15 times a night for two weeks before I realized that (duh!), he also was teething. I will say that teething manifested itself in different ways in each of the boys, so it's not entirely my fault that I didn't recognize it the second time around. But still, I felt pretty bad about being so clueless, especially since because they were so close in age Cade had just finished teething about 5 minutes before Drew started.
It turns out that practice doesn't necessarily makes perfect when it comes to motherhood, but it does hone your maternal instincts (even if it also dulls your intellect somewhat). This time around, I recognized the signs of teething right away and put Josh on a nice steady dose of Motrin to ward off sleepless nights and incessant fussing. Which is a good thing, because it turns out that one of his unique teething side effects is split personalities.
At his last feeding tonight, he was fussing intermittently, alternately refusing to nurse and then subsequently devouring the breast. I figured he might need to burp, so I propped him up on my shoulder. He then proceeded to go all Hannibal Lecter on me, grunting and clawing at my face, while trying to nurse on my nose and cheeks. It was so comical that I had to laugh. Really hard. So hard, in fact, that I scared him and he started crying again. I finally got him calmed down enough to begin nursing again, and he immediately went from being fussy to being Chatty Cathy. He would nurse for a few minutes, then "talk" to the boob, telling it (apparently) baby jokes and then laughing raucously.
All righty then, Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde. As long as you keep sleeping through the night, I don't care how crazy you are during the day.