A wonderful/terrible thing has happened.

Miles has his first tooth.

Denny found it this morning, and he came to let me feel for myself.  It is definitely there—a pointy little sucker.  When I felt it, tears sprang to my eyes, and not because he bit me.  I told Denny it’s like a tiny little version of him going off to college.  I’m glad he has teeth and everything (because seriously, I’m not going to puree his food forever, especially after his very rude rejection of the garbanzo beans I worked so hard on), but I miss my gummy little baby.

He’s been handling it pretty well so far; in fact, he’s slept really well the last few nights.  Let’s hope that continues.  He was kind of fussy tonight, but we gave him some Tylenol, Hyland’s Teething Tablets, this crazy vibrating teething toy from Aunt Shannon, and some frozen apple chunks in his mesh chewy bag.  Among all those methods, he managed to stay more or less content.

I find myself feeling a little envious of the pregnant women I know (Angie, Kate, Melissa), because they’re going to have genuinely tiny little babies soon.  Then, on the other hand, I remember how I mentioned to Denny just this morning that a 7.5-month-old is a lot more fun to hang out with than a one-month-old.

I guess every stage has its ups and downs.  Teething is a down, but laughing at my jokes is an up.  My jokes are much less complex than they used to be—there are a lot of doofy noises involved—but it’s nice to have a receptive audience.