Has it really been almost a month?

I can’t believe how long it’s been since I last posted. In my defense, I did warn everybody that I might supernova out after an initial flurry of postings, and it seems I did. There just hasn’t been much that felt post-worthy lately. We did take the highly lauded First Grandchild (also known as His Highness Davis A., First Nephew, and the Boy Wonder) on a whirlwind tour of North Carolina, where he has a substantial fan base. He was incredibly well-received: hotel marquees announced his presence, radio stations had contests to see who got to have breakfast with him in a limo, and traffic stopped whenever his entourage was in sight (okay, so it was just me and Jay with him in our purple Escort wagon, but hey, he’s a champagne superstar on a beer budget). He has recently had a great deal of trouble getting around, however, as his grandmothers, Bee-bee and Gramma, are firmly wrapped around his little finger. But what’s an adorable, exceedingly charming and incredibly intelligent young man to do?

He has also joined the world of the toothed mammals. Tooth #1 came in just before the trip and tooth #2, apparently a much more shy and retiring type, threatens to make its appearance any day now. It’s so strange seeing that tooth—I keep thinking he’s been eating lint off the carpet or something. I just am not used to the whole tooth thing; my friend’s kid Sam got his first tooth when he was like 4 months old, and I lived in paranoia for weeks after, thinking any day now, Davis was going to get teeth and my breast would suddenly start looking like a steak to him—you know the way the Roadrunner would sometimes look like a ham to Wile E. Coyote? And so of course the week after Sam got his first tooth, Davis got one of his recurring breastfeeding blisters on the middle of his top lip. I had been calling this phenomenon his Egg Tooth, since he looked a little like a dinosaur ready to peck his way out of a shell, but I stopped, thinking it might get the dentition spirits all riled up and bring the choppers out before I was ready. So I’m still getting used to the whole thing. I have been bitten a few times, but the last time I yelped so loudly that it scared him and he started to cry. I don’t know if it served to remind him of the breasts’ superior position in this relationship (as in, ‘don’t bite the boob that feeds you’), but he’s been most gentle with them ever since.

Also, I have come to the stunning realization that I really, really hate crying.

I know, I know, nobody goes out and buys XM satellite radio just so they can have the crying station on all the time, but most people with babies are much better about slogging through a few beastly crying spells than I am. I just really hate it. It makes me crazy, especially when I’m doing all my best stuff and it’s having zero effect. I have learned not to take it personally, which is kind of a difficult thing to do when you’re as self-absorbed as I am. I have never wanted to hurt my child, but there have been times when my voice was louder than it needed to be, even to be heard over said crying. It makes me feel horrid, but there you have it: my mom genes came without the crying-desensitizing option. I guess it’s not a totally bad thing—it makes me sensitive to my son’s needs and lets him know he’s being heard, but I really hope my inability to let him fuss for long won’t end up making him a total hardcore brat. I guess we’ll see. People keep saying I’ll get to the point where I won’t care and I’ll let him cry, and hey, maybe I will. But if I don’t, I don’t, and I’ve learned not to beat myself up about it. That’s what other people are for, right?

Okay, well, that's it for this post. I have some more thoughts on the uglier side of People Who Idly Chat with Your Baby, but that's another post for another night.