Have you ever been stuck at a railroad crossing as the world's longest train went by? First come the engines, about seventeen of them, then the box cars, the flat cars, the graffitied cars, the hobo cars, the circus cars, more engines, and, finally, the caboose. Done? No. After ten minutes of nothing except clanging warning bells and flashing lights, along comes the Bugs Bunny manual locomotion thing with the teeter totter handle. Get the picture? That's Grady teething.
Step One: Giant Poop. A nurse finally told us that no one really knows why kids get the runs when they teethe, but one theory is that teething causes drooling, and when kids swallow drool, it gives 'em the looseys. Grady must drink drool by the bucket-load because phase 1 has us doing several loads of stinky laundry every day. Last fall, when Grady really started teething in earnest, we couldn't figure out the cause of his diaper-bursting bombs. We asked allergists, nurses, strangers at the supermarket, pediatricians, and veterinarians and no one could figure it out. We took him off dairy without any results and finally had a stool sample taken to test for Giardia. The results were, of course, negative. With hundreds of dollars invested into the poop-investigation, he mysteriously got better. And a week later he popped out two teeth.
Step Three: Rash. Constant drooling gives our G-man a rash around his lips. It makes him look like a gas-huffer. A small, baby huffer. I'm surprised his chest doesn't break out as well as much as it gets drool soaked.
Step Four: Fussy, Fussy, Fussy. Grady turns into a bear, doubled by the fact that we've taken away his pacifier. His angry yell is that of a drunk Yankees fan after Jeter gets called out on a close strike three.