The Devil Wears Diapers

If you’ve ever had a baby, you understand the pure hell that is teething. One baby has the power to bring you to your knees, arms raised above your head, shouting what you’d give to end it all. You’d sell your soul, but this baby already owns it. And remember I have two. So I expect double the sympathy.

These demons are 8 months old and have been teething for an eternity. AN. ETERNITY.

Every day we endure the lighting bolts of screams and scalding whines. The endless cries fromΒ exhaustion. The bipolar-esque switch from glee to misery.

WE WANT THE TEETH. GIVE US THE TEETH.

At 8 months old, not a single tooth has popped.

And those damn teething toys and tricks don’t work. Nothing works. Aside from passing out mid-play or post-meal, the only thing that distracts them from their swollen gums is watching Baby Einstein on YouTube.

HALLELUAH! We have a saviour.

Before babies, I was all, “If I ever have kids, I am limiting their TV time! No way will I let my spawn be glued to a screen.” Meanwhile, I’m glued to my phone.

Was I ever deluded.

When TV is the only source of salvation, you have no choice but to give in. But Baby Einstein? Really? I often think, “How can my babies enjoy such puny plots? I could make these if I had an abundance of toys, a solid white wall, and a steady camera!” Baby Einstein is just a series of toys, babies, music, and high-pitched jabbering.

GIRLS! YOU LITERALLY ARE, AND HAVEΒ ACCESS TO, ALL OF THOSE THINGS. ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?

The other option that helps us claw our way out of hell is drugs.

While we don’t do this often (enough!), baby doses of Advil is liquid magic. When we reach our wits end, and I’m sure when the girls have reached their own, they get the syringe.

JUDGE ME. I don’t currrrrrrrrrrrrr.

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