Week 41

Dear Zayde,


I was in denial last week, but this week I must admit that I have finally learned the answer to the question adults have been asking me for five months.Where are my teeth?

THEY ARE IN MY MOUTH.

I have also learned that teeth are insidious monsters hell-bent on causing misery. The throbbing in my lower jaw made me rub my face, gnaw on anything I could get into my mouth, and whine incessantly. (Mommy had previously thought that whining was a learned behavior but now understands that it must be an inherent trait considering that she is certain I've never heard anyone else whine.) After the tooth broke through my aching gums, I thought the ordeal was over, but a few days later, the entire process repeated, and a second tooth, adjacent to the first, reared its ugly head. Just thinking about the last week of oral atrocities makes me cranky, especially now that I've made a note of how many teeth are in other people's mouths. (I have been checking carefully. While Mommy is feeding me, I poke my fingers into her mouth and tap at her teeth with my fingernails. When Daddy was playing with me on the floor and lifting me above his head, I waited until he opened his mouth and then shoved my entire hand in there. I probably could have fit both hands inside, but that just seemed silly.) The results of my hands-on research indicate that I have just begun what is sure to be a long and painful journey toward a full set of teeth.

Compared to experiencing this gum-ravaging anguish, getting my blood drawn at the lab was not so bad. Sure, I yelled, but that was mostly because I'd been kept waiting in a warm waiting room populated by people who smelled as though their mommies weren't as vigilant as mine about changing diapers in a timely manner. I wasn't thrilled about being held in Mommy's lap and having my arm stretched out, either. I am a free-range baby and prefer to control my own limbs, thank you very much. Despite my loud protests, I did learn that my blood is red and can escape from me in a long thin tube. I have no idea how much blood is inside me, but I didn't feel any different after the nurses removed two vials worth, so I will conclude that I have a lot more safely stored away for whatever use I might find in the future. I will also add to my previous weeks' commentary about the sadistic nature of nurses: even the ones that don't poke you in the leg will end up poking you somewhere else, such as the arm or heel. I still have yet to meet a nurse who didn't want to jab me with something sharp.

On a much more joyous note, this week I learned that our family celebrates Rosh Hashanah. L'shanah tovah! At Savtah's house, I watched Mommy light candles, heard some adults singing, and enjoyed my meal with a dozen people who were engaged in multiple simultaneous conversations in three languages. It was a good thing that Mommy brought me some food in little plastic containers because no one else would share. I saw people eating apples, which you know are a favorite of mine, but they smeared them with a golden gooey substance that Mommy was adamant was "not for babies." I'm learning that this phrase pops up quite often. The kitchen is "not for babies." Daddy's special juice is "not for babies." Is there some sort of government agency decreeing these unfair rules? I am compiling a list of things that are "not for babies" and will attempt to find a common thread to better understand this apparent injustice. Meanwhile, I have yet to hear anyone say that something is "not for grown-ups."

I need to end this week's letter here so that I can practice a few more sleep-evading tactics. Every day is another opportunity to prove that I can stay awake. I feel the fatigue set in; I rub my eyes and yawn, but I refuse to give up so easily. There's always one more book to pull off the shelf, one more ball to roll across the floor, one more piece of furniture that I can use to stand up and steady myself. Those foolish adults think that they can out last me, but I know I can keep going. I might lose a few battles, but in the end, victory will be mine.


Plotting and cutting,
Zelda