I hear you there, Sandy. The closest we ever came to teething biscuits was zwieback toast, which my sister swore was the greatest stuff ever invented. Noah took one taste of it, spat it out, and glared at me with an expression which clearly said, "What the hell is
this, Dad???"
He sticks to plastic teething rings or toys, pretty much. My sister-in-law teethed all her kids on huge dill pickles, but Noah doesn't like them, either. He likes graham crackers, but I won't give them to him except at mealtime, when I can keep an eye on him. The dog loves this, since anything that he tosses over the side, she gets.
He was a ring-tailed ripsnorter all day yesterday; all he did was yell and cry and whine, and although I put him down for naps three different times, he wouldn't sleep over about twenty minutes and then started screaming. This was not hepful for Daddy, as I have a vicious cold, my throat feels like it's been sandpapered and wrapped in burlap, I ache all over, and I felt like I'd been beaten by three big men with wooden clubs for several hours. I was never so happy as when Mommy came home from work; I more or less said, "He's all yours, Mom," and I zoned for a while.
My condition continues to deteriorate, although I can report that the cold is robust and healthy and appears to be quite strong. I hope the kid chills out tomorrow, because I'm starting to resemble one of those cartoon characters who stands there after having a ton of dynamite blow up in his face, with the little bubbles popping around his head.
Now I know why my mother was so cranky when she had a cold when I was a little kid.
