I have been waiting and waiting for Dubs to get some decent teeth.  He cut his first ones at 8 months, bottom two, front and center.

And then nothing for months… and months… six of them to be exact…

I may have been anxious because I was tired of hearing “oh, only two teeth, at a year? My son had all of his teeth by that age” and “oh, late teether, huh?” and even the pediatrician “well, we like to see four teeth by about a year”.

As if teething is anything anyone has any control over.  Now I know my son has some power and control issues and admittedly most of our relationship is a power struggle, but I know he is not holding out on teething just to have control over something in his life.

After all my months of waiting, he finally cut his top four.  Front and center.  Pearly whites.  All one right after another.

At almost 15 months it was about time.  After the months of sticking my fingers in his mouth, poking around, looking in there any chance I got, anxious… waiting… knowing they had to show sometime.  Seriously starting to wonder if he won’t get milk teeth and will go straight to big boy teeth  - and thinking how funny his little mouth would look with all big boy teeth.  I had a friend in high school who had the tiniest teeth ever, I used to make fun of her for her tiny teeth, telling her “your baby teeth never fell out, you still have milk teeth.”  Kharma’s a bitch.

I had a dream, early on in my pregnancy, that Dub was born with a mouth full of huge teeth.  And the birth went so well I couldn’t even remember it.  I asked the nurse “did I have any pain meds? Did I make it through without an epidural?”  Her reply was to bring me a naked, writhing, long and skinny little boy and tell me to “NURSE HIM!”  I was terrified of her.  I had heard from girlfriends about the “nipple nazi’s” at the hospital, the lactation consultants that are all over your bosom and all up in your business.  This was THE nipple nazi.  So she hands me the skinniest baby ever, and he opens his mouth to latch on and has a mouth FULL of HUGE teeth.  Huge.  I started telling the nipple nazi, “No!  Look at his teeth, look at his teeth!”

This dream, along with one other, told me I was having a boy.

At any rate, after all of my stressing, waiting and anticipating (even before birth), Dubs finally got some teeth to be proud of.

Then he picked a glass up off the nightstand that I had failed to put away that morning.  And he was apparently (I was all of 10 feet away throwing some clothes in the washing machine, daring to look away from him long enough to shove the clothes in) holding it up to his face to look through it and walk – this is one of his new favorite games, loves to do it with tupperware.  And apparently he fell, his face using the glass to break his fall.

The good news: the glass did not break.

The bad news: he chipped two of his front four teeth (and they were not even all the way in yet, really making it look like they hadn’t even cut yet), gave himself a fat lip and a goose egg on his forehead.

Pediatric dentures may be in order after all.