Let Them Eat Food

Malachi is teething. Hard. One tooth is through, but the second is clearly giving him a hard time. Which is a hard time for all of us. Eating, bathing, and conversing are things of the past. I told Shane we should just get some French comedies as subtitles would allow us to actually get the movie. Instead of trying to read lips and coming away with vastly different plot themes. Were we watching the same movie? He was confessing to the murder? I thought he was professing his undying love and affection.

Teething tablets, Tylenol, frozen chewy rings. None make  much of a difference. He's also started nursing like he's smoking a cigarette. He takes long, slow drags. Then lies there contemplatively, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and looks around before taking another puff. The he feels the cigarette slipping so he employs his newly emerged snaggle tooth and catches it just in time. At which point I take a sharp breath. Which scares him. So he cries some more and I cry some more and I wonder how the detective knew the murderer was the wife.

So I laughed, yesterday, when the therapist advised me to work on getting some time for myself. To exercise, think, grocery shop- without the distraction of kids. Actually, I had already set aside some time on my calendar next week. At 4am. To pee. These days that's about as luxurious as it gets. She also advised me to focus on nutrition and making every calorie count. As in make sure every calorie comes from butter, heavy cream, bacon sandwiches, or triple cream brie with crackers and apples. Or at least that is what I took it to mean. Given the few opportunities and the speed, and positions, which go with trying to get food past a grabby Muffin and into my mouth, the fewer in number and more calorie-dense in composition of each bite the better chance I won't pass out before the next meal. At this point I don't know if my freaky metabolism could support me, a growing fat boy, and  some jumping jacks.

I surprised myself last night when Shane, who had already worked late and through some of Malachi's evening fussiness - it gets worse at night-asked if it would work to take the big kids to see the midnight showing of Man of Steel. And I said sure. By work, it ended up meaning that Cyprian would discover they were going and he was not as he was awake when they left.   Because my kids stay up way too late and a midnight showing is not really a big stretch for them. His sadness would not be assuaged by the opportunity to camp out in mom and dad's room and Malachi, who was almost starting to stop whining, felt inspired by the competition  and set up wailing with renewed vigor. I was starting to regret my support as Cyprian threatened to pack his bags and leave and Malachi bit me for the umpteenth time. Then Kateri took the baby and walked and the  change of scenery and pace helped him finally quiet down and I slipped him a cigarette and  he went to sleep. Just about the time the movie was starting.

And I  was so not ready when Malachi started repeating all of the bushman's lines from The Gods Must Be Crazy. At five in the morning. He finally went down for a nap. 45 min ago. He's up now. Probably he sensed I was about to make lunch.