Some baby phases are just phases. Some baby phases are PHASES.
This is one of the latter.
Last week was a teething week. It was, frankly, horrible (molars). But it’s over. In its place, we have this. Perhaps a photo sequence will help illustrate our situation.
We start here. Tra la la. Isn’t the park lovely? I’m just doing a bit of pushchair maintenance, mama; carry on.
Three minutes later, and for no reason at all, we are here.
I can’t put him down, at any point in the day, without him crying. We are not getting anything done. My hip is permanently out of alignment. Every piece of crockery in the house is dirty. Mealtimes – oh, mealtimes. If I can force anything but custard down his throat without him becoming full-on hysterical, I count it as a good day. He developed an unexpected liking for the butternut squash soup I made and we gave each other high-fives. Then I was so distracted I let the whole pan of soup spoil in the heat so we were back to the custard.
I knew it was all beginning to drag a little when I put him down for a nap this morning and wished violent and bloody retribution upon the poor, innocent chap who started using a scythe outside our window five minutes later. I am getting in the shower to prevent it all turning a bit Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It might. It really might.
I suspect there is nothing to do but wait it out. Pls send cake.