Below is Hot Heels, Cool Kicks, and a Scalpel’s first guest blog post by an anonymous trauma mama like us whose son happens to be teething at the moment.  

Trauma call: Strangers scream expletives when I try to help them.
Teething: The light of my life screams expletives — in a language reminiscent of that Gollum guy in Lord of the Rings — when I try to help him.

Trauma call: Desperately need a drink, often, but to imbibe increases my likelihood for violating the Hippocratic Oath and securing jail time.
Teething: Desperately need a drink, often, but to imbibe increases my likelihood for tripping over “Sit to Stand Puppy” and smashing my face in a pile of Mega-Blocks.

Trauma call: I’m frequently covered in bodily fluids that reek.
Teething: I’m frequently covered in bodily fluids that reek. And thanks for nothing Dr. Sears, but nothing my child has produced has ever, EVER hinted of the comforting scent of buttermilk.

Trauma call: At 3 am, I start to twitch from <30 minutes sleep.
Teething: At 5 pm, he starts to twitch because he’s refused to nap >30 minutes.

Trauma call: The probability that I’ll sustain bruises to the sternum or nose exceeds 50% after 2 AM.
Teething: The probability that I’ll sustain bruises to any corner of my anatomy is 100%. Always.

Bottom line — moms, to prepare yourself for a teething kid, complete a surgical residency. It’s much better preparation than any of those dang parenting books.