(9/19/14) Eleven. He has exactly eleven teeth: the eight in front (minus the bit sacrificed to the rock in the front yard) plus three molars, the top right one deciding it would wait just a bit longer to put in an appearance. It’s not a full party without it.
No canine teeth yet, although he does love to see dogs.
It shouldn’t surprise me that things happen differently with him than with his sister, but sometimes it does. She ate solid food more readily than he does. I feel like she had more teeth sooner. You could pat her to sleep, even if it took a long time; he’s not so willing to lie down and be still. She was – and is – a passionate girl, but she’s found her rival. She could be loud, then she could be louder. With Boy, though – well, let’s just say he goes to eleven, just like his teeth.
Only, now that it’s 10/10/14, his half-birthday, he – weighing in at 28 1/2 pounds – has more teeth (that’s what happen when you start blog posts but Boy wakes up). No more eleven for him! As of last week, or maybe the week before that, he had four more teeth (those canines were barking!), with a fifth new tooth pressing through his gums. The tightness is not unlike a pregnant belly, skin taut, covering the motion and growth it covers, the start of something new.
Tonight, as he was winding down for sleep, Boy roused himself, saying, “Dada. Dada. I luhv-oo. Hug. Down.” He climbed off the bed, said, “Hand,” and held my hand as we walked into his sister’s room, where Dada was, in fact, reading to Girl. Boy hugged them and told them he loved them, just as he’d said he would do.
I went along with it. Really, it doesn’t get much sweeter than that.
But I also knew that resistance was futile. If I’d stopped him, he’d have gone to eleven – one louder – and who needs anything more than a ten?