Tri Nguyen

I’m sick again. I’m weak, congested and sneezy; a Theraflu cocktail sounds delicious right about now. This upper-respiratory crap has hit me twice already. This third time had better be the last. What a terrible winter it’s been.

Sophie’s just getting over a week-long bout of diarrhea (her first); truly adorable runny nostrils; and one feverish, bawling, sleepless night. I dispensed 80mg of liquid Tylenol through an oral syringe, bringing Sophie’s temperature down. Sophie looked cute licking the cherry-flavored stuff off her lips. We’ve burned through her diapers. My hands feel like alligator skin for all the hand-washing that I do. Her doctor saw her Monday; her advice matching what I had gleaned already from baby books. At least I know that Sophie now weighs 15 pounds, 8 ounces.

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So, on a whim, I poked my index finger into the little one’s maw. I felt a mineral hardness on her lower mandible. Teeth! Or, a tooth! It was the bite of an erupting incisor. When I told Luna, she stopped just short of jumping for joy. For Luna the tooth explained everything: Sophie’s recently attenuated appetite, her bout of diarrhea (and yes, Luna had me consult the “Diarrhea” entry in the baby manual).

In a few years we may have to pull that tooth (bound perhaps by a thread of floss to a doorknob). Yes, I will be sad.