the nine-fingered mommy

Last night Mooseyman gave me a wild surprise. Usually when I try to check in his mouth for new teeth he tries to take off the tip of my finger. No, seriously. I have never been bitten so hard as my son will bite me. Ouch! So anyways, I'm brushing Moose's teeth and Papa is there tickling him and distracting him. Suddenly, I get the reckless notion to stick my finger in his mouth...

I pause. Am I ready for the possible consequences of doing so? Am I ready to become the nine-fingered Mommy?

Breathe in, breathe out.

I plunge my precious finger into his mouth. I pry open his jaw and inspect around as my hubby continues to play, unaware at the risks I am taking right before his very eyes. He doesn't know the ferocity of our little piranha.

As I'm exploring this treacherous territory, I slide my finger across some manner of stalactite in the back of his mouth. Can it be?

A molar! Half grown in already! I had no idea. I suspected due to the fussiness, the crankiness, refusal to eat, drooling and a finger (his own) permanently residing back there for a week or so, but he had just popped out his last incisor a few days before, so I just chalked it all up to that tooth.

I excitedly proclaimed "Eureka!" and showed my husband the newly-found treasure. Okay, not really (because he would have looked at me like I was nuts and then would have proceeded to imitate such an exclamation for weeks). But I did excitedly show him the tooth before promptly removing my fingers from the dangerous cavern.

That would explain some of the beastliness of my little man the last few weeks. He has gotten at least two new teeth and come down with the flu all at once.

He's feeling a bit better today...