Zombie on 5th Street

Dear Hagen,

You turned 9 months old today. I would like to tell the world how you bring sunshine with you wherever you go and enrich the lives of everyone you meet, but the world wouldn't be able to hear me over the screaming. About four days ago, you started getting in your first real tooth, and things have turned, as they say in the South, "Ug-leeeee." 

You spend 15 minutes of every hour hollering... all the way around the clock. We've medicated you. We've given you teething rings. We've frozen your favorite crackers. I've even soaked a Q-Tip with cognac and rubbed it on your gums, which didn't help. Then I reloaded it and rubbed it on MY gums, which did help.

You have a cold, the wildfire smoke is bugging you, you can't breathe, and you're getting teeth. Might oughta rethink that Q-Tip, Hoss. 

This morning, you had your 9 month appointment with Dr. Hoover. 

Waiting for the Dr to arrive

You're 56% weight, 56% head, 23% height. 

Shortly after the appointment, you resumed your screaming. The only thing that would get you to hush was if I put you in the stroller and walked you around the neighborhood. So we walked up and down Grandma Sue's street. Over and over and over again. When Peg Peg, (who has seen far too many police procedurals), drives through the same neighborhood twice, she always says, "They prob'ly think we're casing the joint." I'm sure that's exactly what they're thinking about that short redheaded woman driving the Lexus SUV. 

I thought about that today, as I took my sixth sleep-deprived lap around the block. On the seventh lap, I took my camera along and shot some pictures of the neighborhood flowers I'd admired on all my previous walk-bys.

On the ninth lap, you finally fell asleep and I parked you by the front porch, like the saddest old man at Shady Pines Retirement Village. He likes his food strained, and don't wake him up 'til it's time for his meds. 

By the time we'd circled the block so many times, it was time to go pick up your sister from school. She brought a whole new energy to the afternoon, jumping in imaginary puddles, running through sprinklers with Dad, and sharing her applesauce with you.

 One great tip Dr. Hoover gave us was to try children's Zyrtec. It seems to have cleared out your nose and allowed you to sleep. Your dad and I are calling it a miracle drug and doing the dance Laney taught us earlier today:

Happy 9 months, sweet pea.

Love,

Mom