Expected parenting dilemmas that didn't happen

I had a really big arsenal of teething tricks that I was collecting when we were expecting Jolly, because it was fully something that I expected to make life difficult during the first two years in an ongoing way. I was bracing myself, and then it was super anticlimactic because there was just as much drooling and just as much shoving things into the mouth as ever (it wouldn't have been possible to increase the quantity of either) and then suddenly there was a tooth. Only in Jolly's case, the teeth really came in like a nicely orchestrated ballet where nearly all the teeth that came in were symmetrical. Very pleasing to Ephiny, who has always been a fan of symmetry.

So, I figured, well, it's going to be the MOLARS that are the big armageddon everyone talks about and then maybe finally my ice water washcloths kicking it in the freezer would get to see some use. Only, nope, same deal as before. Stoic baby stoically presents matching molars to surprised parents who really didn't see that coming. Ta dah!

Maybe the second year molars, since those are happening when there are already behavioral challenges and tantrums debuting? Nope. Same drill as before, though this time the cramming of things into the back of the mouth is a bit more noticable, because the oral fixation has generally tapered off a bit. They seem pretty completely through now. The amount of pointing at things in a book with a spit-covered finger just removed from mouth, and then insisting "WIPE BOOK!" had increased, but then definitely decreased again in the past week... though it's still nonzero. (Yes, we do read library books, and yes, in spite of diligent wiping I do feel guilty and apologetic about the amount of saliva deposited in books we don't own, but not enough to stop getting books out of the library.)

Vaguely embarrassing when other people are swapping the tales of torment and agony of teething, to have absolutely nothing to contribute, but you know, smallest violin in the entire WORLD playing for that. (Readers who want to slap me at this point out of the unfairness of the universe: I'm pretty sure Iceman will be the whiniest, non-sleeping mess of all time when teething, so that there will be some amount of justice restored to the world.)

It occurs to me as I am preparing for Jolly having a blood draw to check iron levels next week (totally routine, nothing to worry about) that sugar is a very-well documented analgesic for infants, and I expect the effect trickles over to the toddler stage. If so, perhaps this is the secret to our child's super-stealth teething: perhaps he is self-medicating.

And if he is self-medicating with sugar, the extent to which he's doing so really would explain a totally blissed out, totally pain-free teething experience.

Granted, much of his sugar intake comes from the vast quantities of fruit he is capable of inhaling, but not all of it.

Thing one to note, as a parent of a sugar junkie. It is really really helpful if you only refer to sweets using their non-English words, so that when your child is rhapsodizing about doughnuts or chocolate, other parents around you are at least not aware of the fact that your kid is doing so. This allows you to avoid lots and lots of judgement that you let your kid eat THAT, sometimes, in moderation. (It should be noted that in moderation requires some management, as Jolly is cheerfully capable of putting away about 11/12ths of a normal sized doughnut.) We missed out on cupcakes, but otherwise, totally effective. Only the most astute history buffs will put together your child's discussions of Berliners with your very lax sugar policy. Everyone else will be busy being charmed by your child's bilinguality!

Secondly, if you let your child help with the baking you should note that your child might consume sprinkles in greater quantity than you expect while they are decorating the cupcakes. Wednesday, the eve of Ephiny's departure, I was super-tired and passed out in bed in the late afternoon, thus missing dinner for Jolly. The next morning, on solo-duty, I changed a diaper and noted that it was voluminously filled with what looked in color and consistency like a thick pesto. A very nice, leafy, bright green of just-made pesto, the likes of which I  have never encountered in a diaper before. I was baffled and wondered what he'd eaten the night before. Perhaps leafy greens, which he's just recently started eating?

When Ephiny called later to inform me that she'd landed on the other coast, I remembered to ask, because I wanted to take note so that I could use "____ makes your poop green" as an incentive to eat it, just like "beets make your poop red!" (Blueberries still need no incentive, being covered under the sugar clause.) Ephiny's answer was "really not very much at all, just token amounts of leftovers". Thus, I was still baffled. But, because I married a very smart lady, it took Ephiny just a moment to put together that it was probably the particular mix of sprinkles (brown, blue, red and yes, green) which I found sitting in the back of the cupboard from when the grown-ups made Christmas cookies. Alas! I had so been enjoying the fantasy that Jolly had just eaten our entire farmshare's worth of leafy greens for the week.

While we're on the topic, Jolly just made his first potty humor joke tonight.

"What's this? Dog poop." "No, that's cat hair." "No, DOG POOP!" *maniacal laughter, momentary pause* "What's this?" "You know what that is!" "DOG POOP!!!" "Noooo, those are mummy's pants." *cackling fit eventually gives rise to another two second pause and then, pointing...* "IT'S A DOG POOP!" "Actually, that's mummy's shirt." "DOOOOG POOOOP!" *nearly falling off chair with the hilarity*

Repeat ad nauseam with enough objects substituted that I don't need to be offended at the fact that my hairstyle just has been compared to fecal output of a domestic animal.

I am in fact deeply entertained.

And hey, at least it's not "DOGGIE DOO-DOO", for which I and all my loathing of baby talk are profoundly grateful.