It appears I may have inadvertently angered the Parenting Over-Lords…
I mean really tickled their tits.
Proper shitting-well pissed them off.
I’m not sure when, where or how, but I am now receiving one of the worst mummy punishments KNOWN TO MAN.
Despite only having six front teeth so far, the bastards upstairs have decided that WallyBubba’s next teething exploit should be four, yes, FOUR molars all emerging at the same time…. I know. I almost fainted myself. Although that could have been the gin. It’s inconclusive. An-y-way.
Quite frankly, if it wasn’t for the mystical and never-to-be-questioned power of the magical-amber-teething-anklet-of-miraculousness, I think I would have moved out and become a full time alcoholic by now.
So for those also suffering at the mercy of the Teething Gods, here are my top tips for surviving the dreaded saga without killing anyone:
Move out and become a full time alcoholic. (i.e. upgrade)
Never, ever, ever, ever, f@*king ever, EVER leave the house without the aforementioned anklet, a litre of Calpol and a bottle of absinthe-laced Pinot Grigio.
Introduce the Calpol spoon at meal times and use it to feed them chocolate. This way you stand a chance of getting some of it down their throat before they notice. Fashion an apron from nappy bags, optimism, and your own tears to catch the aftermath once they realise…
Cancel all plans. You won’t be leaving the house for a while. Also pack up your makeup and hair straighteners, and get that shitty old dressing gown out… the one you used to cry in. Consider it your new uniform.
Limit your liquid intake. Leaving them alone for even a few seconds to use the loo only angers them further… Gin is just as effective in shot form. (phew)
Suggest to your parents it may be time to have a Granny & Granddad midweek sleepover! Yay! Don’t mention the teething – just drop off and run. DROP OFF AND RUN.
Forget sleep (not that you remember it anyway) and take up all-night tweeting… Oh hang on, that’s what you do now. Ok – do that. But more angrily.
To ensure people don’t attempt to speak to you whilst you’re out and about with your toddler sleeping for the first time in 36 hours in her pushchair; wear pyjamas, allow your hair to roam free and shout out random words in a state of delirium to scare them off… Shouldn’t be too hard… Also known as ‘Monday’…
Politely remind your husband that Sunday mornings are for Daddy-time and go and lie down. In an unknown, un-trackable location until the following Thursday.
Go to Boots and order two of everything in extra strong, I don’t care how much it is thank you please. Show them your angry toddler’s face to make them do it really shitting quickly.
Take out shares in Tanqueray and drink until you can’t recognise members of your family or feel your face.