Of course there is always a mother who claims that for her baby it was uneventful. No spiking fever. No crankiness for her child. But I was not that mother. It was for my boy an agony.
Nothing is uneventful.
And the child, look at him, ready for big teeth, he tries to speed it up. All that twisting, that horrible pressing, rocking, playing the tongue against that little chicklet, working the tip into the crevasses, feeling, perhaps, the point of the incoming tooth. Hours with fingers in the mouth. The constant wobbling of the tooth. As if a reward, a coin beneath the pillow, a measly token from a night fairy, could measure the agony of bone growing through bone.