My cells are tired, and I suspect it’s my own damn fault.
It’s either my fault because my genes are too stellar, or because I’m facing a karmic punishment for narcissistic shit talking.
First the stellar gene theory, my son has decided that rather than sprouting one or two teeth at a time he’d prefer to have them all at once, thank you very much (I’m operating under the illusion that he’s thoughtfully weighed the pros and cons of protracted vs. acute teething and has “decided”). Thus, in addition to being preternaturally cute, tall, and intelligent–he’s believes in brutal efficiency.
I’m so proud. Proud and tired.
In his calculations, I don’t know that he adequately weighed the *Impact on Dad’s Hobbies* variable, or the *Parents Must Preform Adequately at Work* variable.
It is possible that my stellar genes haven’t gifted my son with the ability to plan his teething. If that’s true then in my exhausted state the only reason I can think of that the Universe would have all of a baby’s teeth come in at the same time is as a means of punishing a prideful, shit talking father (i.e. Me).
Before Baby Indy was born, I assured everyone around me that I was the King of the Jungle and that the Baby would bend to my iron will. The Baby would have to conform to my schedule, etc, etc, etc.
I’m such an asshole.
Thus the Universe decided to punish me for my narcissism–teach me some humility.
Well, the Universe can suck it, I’m not learning shit.
If anything I’m doubling down on my narcissism, take this blog as proof. It’s operating under the theory that a baby’s discomfort is a father’s punishment.
Ha! How about that Universe, lesson not learned.
Quick caveat, in the event that the Universe actually reads this know that I’m a huge fan of your work and would love it if you followed me on Twitter. Maybe you could even give us a retweet every once in a while?