My MIL had a somewhat rough ride with the babysitting last night, but both boys were asleep by 8:30 p.m., so in the end it wasn’t too bad. When hubby and I got home, though, MIL and I had a classic, and I mean CLASSIC, exchange.
Mark, 3 1/2 months, seems to have started teething. He is chewing on things, drooling a lot, and uncharacteristically fussy. The topic came up, and I said something to the effect of, “Oh boy, here we go with teething.” I should have known not to even go there with my MIL. She responded, “Well, the first one or two will be the worst, then it will get better.” I said, “Later on, though, the molars will come in. Those will be the worst.”
I remember teething with my oldest, and it was not fun. Crabby when awake, not sleeping well, the whole works. We couldn’t wait until it was over.
But MIL is always right, so she couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Well,” she said, “at least at that age he’ll be more able to express himself, so it won’t be so bad.” Um, excuse me, but since when is a crabby, miserable toddler easy to deal with?
Good grief! This woman will stop at nothing to have the last word and to be “right.”
Regardless of what she apparently believes to be true, I have found that teething is a miserable experience for everyone, from the first tooth right on through to the last molar.