Teething

Always be prepared, that’s my motto, that and, “We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind, 'cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance, well they're no friends of mine”. In truth, the ‘always be prepared’ part is a bit of a stretch. I never made it past the Webelos, due primarily to a nasty little behavior problem I developed as a child. Having never had the opportunity to achieve Tenderfoot status, I’m forced to rely on my experience as a member of the Yokut Indian Guides when dealing with my newfound responsibilities as an adult and father of a beautiful baby girl. I still call upon the memories of my time as, “Running Bull”, in the Indian Guides and am still filled with an extraordinary sense of accomplishment whenever I happen to look at my highest flying kite trophy earned by my father and me. Even at that young age I can remember thinking, after seeing my kite burst into flames due to its proximity to the sun that it was a wrap and that all the other little brats would have to look on with envy as my Father and I walked to the podium to receive our prize. Still, my experience in the Indian Guides and my subsequent stint with the Webelos could not have prepared me for the parental rite of passage that I like to call teething.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for this. I don’t want to say that the Bean is inconsolable, but she is. My funny dancing routine, the making of odd little noises with my mouth, and tickling have all failed me. Even our collection of cute little teething toys has proved futile in Bean’s battle with the two little white razors that are cutting through her bottom gums. Twenty some odd dollars later, and after watching each teething toy fail in succession, we have made a fantastic discovery. It’s a simple and cost-effective means of relief. A baby sock, one ice cube, and a small rubber band is all that it requires. That such a simple and readily available remedy works has me rethinking the entire baby aisle at Freddy’s.

This magical ice sock, as I like to call it, has ushered in a temporary reprieve from what had been, until its discovery, a maddening time. It comes off as some sort of cheap parlor trick every time D and I use the ice sock to steal some small and fleeting moments of serenity in between wails, but it works nonetheless.

This morning, I used the ice sock supreme to buy me enough time to give the new Bob Dylan album a listen. It worked in tandem with a colorful cartoon set to mute while Bob Dylan reverberated through my stereo speakers. As a method to buy ourselves some “me” time, it worked brilliantly until, “Someday Baby”, ran its course. That’s when Bean finally caught on to our rouse and decided that enough was enough. Soon the wailing began again and operation “soothe the baby” was in full effect.

Bean is like some twisted puppet master who decides where and when to play D and I like the marionettes we’ve become. Parenthood? Yeah, right. Claiming that would require some semblance of control and with the reins firmly in Bean’s little mitts it seems like our life as puppets is going to continue for some time. At least until she’s old enough to reason. As soon as that day comes I will position myself as the Tony Danza of our home. Wait, bad example. Samantha ran that shit, didn’t she?