The ratio of time spent with eyes open has of late largely outweighed the time spent shut. Our little bear has been at odds with Monsieur Le Premier Toof for three months. For three months he has sat just below gum's edge... he stares blankly in white-ish garb. I swear sometimes I can here him laugh. Monsieur Toof has become lonely, it seems. Residing three months paralyzed underneath the gums of an infant will do that, I suppose. He has recently decided to invite a few friends to join him. My son's mouth is now a playground for these tormenting, pearly white, denticles. Because of this, we do not sleep... he does not eat.
Forrest has decidedly given up on eating semi-solids. Forget brown rice. Forget whole grain oats. The only things he is interesting in digesting are knuckles (hands and toes), knees, bibs, books, and teas. Even his nursings are as scarce as hen's teeth.
Forrest has decidedly given up on eating semi-solids. Forget brown rice. Forget whole grain oats. The only things he is interesting in digesting are knuckles (hands and toes), knees, bibs, books, and teas. Even his nursings are as scarce as hen's teeth. 
Instead, we have supplied a healthy and ample diet of book-worming. He-loves-books. Books, books, books, books, books... I have read an uncountable number of books in the past few hours, alone. I am happy to announce, though that he seems to be retaining the information. Over the past week he has perfected what I refer to as his "dying cat" noise. All kidding aside, this noise is awful. And, it is often coupled with both arms raised up toward me. He is in pain and it is nowhere near easy to swallow. Tylenol has some splannin' to do. Sigh.
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