Today I'm grumpy. It has been a pretty miserable night here and despite the fact that I should be sleeping right now and trying to put this day behind me, I've decided to visit my favorite pissy-mood website: McSweeney's Internet Tendency. There is no mood foul enough that a few "Open Letters to People or Entities Who Are Unlikely to Respond" or "Reviews of New Food" can't fix. And now that I have successfully laughed my way out of this nasty mood, I've decided to attempt writing my own open letter.
An Open Letter to My Son's Teeth
Dear Teeth,
Who would have thought that a few enamel covered nubbins would make me want to dig my eyeballs out with a spoon? Since you have entered our lives I have reached the conclusion that waiting for your arrival is in fact worse than childbirth. And childbirth was pretty damn rough. I did my research, I tried all the teething "tips and tricks." Drops, tablets, pain relievers, ice, wet washcloths, my fingers, carrots and Popsicles. Nothing, absolutely nothing will ease the torment you are insistent on bringing into my son's life, and by proximity, my life. I hate you teeth, I hate you.
We are up all night, walking, rocking, talking and screaming. It is mostly my son doing the screaming, mostly. When you finally decide to make your arrival we delight in the instant peace it brings and the return of my son from the inhuman demon child you created. I overlook the pain you cause my breasts, and I learned quickly not to put my fingers in his mouth anymore. You are sharp, sharp, little devils. And for a while we relax, we sleep, and we forget the torture you put us through. We even think "Hey, maybe another kid would be fun someday." But you invited your little friends, you bastards, and the misery starts again. Bicuspids, canines, incisors, DAMN YOU ALL!!!
Sincerely,
Kyla
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