Marital Mondays: How Teething Can Ruin Your Marriage

Take a crazy ass normal married chick, who is used to her adorable little cherub sleeping for twelve amazing hours each night, and throw in a 13 month old, who is trying to cut two lateral incisors at the same time, and you have yourself a recipe for a ruined marriage. Here’s how:

5:20pm – The poor kid is in too much pain to eat.

6:00pm – We give our little angel her bath

6:30pm – She is given Tylenol for her raging fever, two beautiful breasts for nourishment, and a good tooth brushing. She falls asleep easily.

11:00pm – She’s wails as though she’s been stabbed by a hooded intruder. I pick her up and rub her back, while listening to the mucous rattle in her nose, until she falls back to sleep. I lay her down and walk out.

Hannibal snores loudly.

3:15am – I am in a deep sleep. My stresses don’t exist. I spend my days on a beach with Morris Chestnut massaging my shoulders. Hannibal looks on jealously, while collecting dirty towels.

3:30am – I feel hot breath on my face. I realize this is not the Jamaican sea breeze blowing over me, and I open my eyes to find a seven-year-old staring at me with wide eyes.

My fight response kicks in, and I jump and shriek accidentally smacking the child in the face.

Hannibal snores loudly.

3:40am – I console the child by insisting that nothing from any movies that she’s ever seen will come and get her, because I’m too crazy for anything bad to happen to her in our house — also, because most of the movies she’s seen are cartoons, and being attacked by cartoon characters is just weird.

3:45am – Child insists that she will only be safe if Ribbit-Sob, the frog created at Build-A-Bear, which she casts aside each night at about 9pm is returned to her arms.

3:50am – We finally find Ribbit-Sob under the bed, and the child agrees to try to fall back to sleep. I return to bed. Hannibal snores loudly.

4:00am – Close eyes and attempt to ignore Hannibal’s now Olympic rate snoring and return to the beach with Morris Chestnut.

4:14am – Wailing begins. Open eyes.

4:15am – Peel self from bed, and go to infant’s room to retrieve her and bring her to our bed. Hannibal snores loudly.

4:16am – Nurse baby and try to sleep on my side propped on one shoulder with hot infant incessantly kicking me in the ribs.

4:25am – Hannibal mumbles something and continues snoring loudly.

4:35am – Detach baby from breast and close eyes.

4:36am – Open eyes.

4:36am – Did we remember to lock the front door?

4:40am – What the hell is the thermostat on?

4:41am – I’m thirsty.

4:41am – I get up to check the front door, turn down the thermostat, get water, and return to bed. Hannibal and baby snore loudly.

5:00am – I think I went to sleep.

5:05am – The baby coughs and accidentally wakes herself up. She won’t go back to sleep without nursing.

5:20am – My head is pounding, so I lay awake for an hour

6:20am – I fall asleep.

6:30am – Mooch’s alarm clock goes off, so she can go to a beach meditation, and it wakes me. The baby sleeps soundly. As Mooch begins clanging cereal bowls together in the Children’s National Breakfast Orchestra, Hannibal scratches his balls, “Can I help you with anything, baby?”

6:35am – *tears*

7:00am – Hannibal returns to sleep and snores loudly.

7:45am – Hannibal wakes and helps Mooch get out of the front door.

10:45am – Mooch returns, eats, and changes clothes.

12:45pm – Hannibal takes Mooch to go visit some recording studio and leaves me here sleep-deprived with a screaming infant.

1:00pm – *tantrum*

2:00pm – Her fever is still not gone, and she starts having uncontrollable nose bleeds.

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