Stocking up on lumber and hoping babies don't unite

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Early Americans understood the trauma of teething. That's why they gave their babies opium. And I'm left with Infants' Tylenol and Orajel. Thanks, medical community.

Yes, doctors prescribed opium quite frequently in the 1800s. But it didn't take a prescription. People bought opium over the counter.

The potions came in little bottles had names such as Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup, Godfrey's Cordial and McMunn's Elixir of Opium.

Some were teething syrups for young children, which seems a little alarming until you've had a teething baby. Sure, maybe the babies of the 1800s crawled around in a haze, but I'll bet the parents were well rested and focused.

Our son, Jay, seems well behaved for 14 months. After sitting through church services, people will tell us he's "such a good little boy." My wife and I let it go to our heads. So confident were we, that we took Jay to a restaurant about a month ago. Actually, he'd been to restaurants before and was pleasant, so we expected more of the same.

But on this night he was teething. He fussed and cried and flung his sippy cup. He was manic, trying to grab everything, including our plates, the salsa, the napkins. Not even Cheerios would soothe his tiny savage beast.

It was like trying to dine while being hunted, except louder. The point of the meal quickly changed from enjoyment to survival. I wolfed down my burrito and refried beans and got my son to the car, leaving my wife to pay the bill.

We found ourselves defenseless against our son's teething. And with Jay being our first child, this was a revelation.

Also a revelation is our son's proliferation of teeth. He has nine already. And it occurs to me, he's spent about 70 percent of his life painfully producing teeth. Ours has become a house of tooth. We've been on this toothapalooza for nearly a year. The distress from the first teeth was nothing compared to that of the canine teeth he just cut. And the worst is yet to come, the molars. Where is Mrs. Winslow when I need her soothing syrup most?

As I mentioned earlier, our weapons are few. So I logged on to AskBaby.com in an effort to widen our arsenal.

"Try distracting your baby with plenty of hugs," the Web site suggests.

OK. I'm as cuddly as the next dad, but I'm liable to lose a limb cuddling my son when he's in a teething rage. The first meat in his diet was human flesh. Mine.

We try teething rings and the like, but he prefers a good, solid shoulder or collar bone to gnaw on. Absent that, he's taken a shine to lumber. He's chiseled up his crib bars and now has his sights set on the computer table. Our child is a woodchuck. We're trying to get him to stick to pine. We can't afford a walnut appetite.

But short of supplying antiques for my child to eat, I find myself at my son's mercy when he's teething. I'll do nearly anything to ease his pain. And in this way, babies wield considerable power over their parents. Thank the Lord they don't have the vision to organize. Could you imagine hordes of teething babies suddenly making concerted demands of parents everywhere?

"Let us touch more stuff."

"Greater access to cat tails."

"End face wiping now!"

Oh, I think we'd cave. In the most extreme cases I find myself trying to barter with God to quiet our teething toddler. In the heat of the moment I've offered to sacrifice an appendage, usually a little toe and only the tip of it. Luckily, God has never accepted. I wonder if Jesus teethed.

And speaking of the divine one. Perhaps by design teething children prepare their parents for old age by dulling their senses with over stimulation.

I've always thought it was wisdom that allowed older folks to be more relaxed than younger generations. Now, I'm wondering if sensory under load may have something to do with it.

With molars on the way and Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup long gone, all I can do is hope and stock up on lumber.

Tom Martin is editor of The Register-Mail. Contact him at tmartin@register-mail or 343-7181 Ext. 250.