This was the face we saw most often.
He put us through hell and high water. It was all we could do NOT to scream or shout at him. Physical punishment (hitting) never crossed our minds as we are great advocators of non-violence. We took turns to remind ourselves that this is just a phase, and that his peeking upper incisors were giving him hell too.
If the day was 100 on a scale of 1 to 100 of BADNESS, the night was ... 1,000,000,000. I couldn't exaggerate more. He was practically awake every 2-3 minutes from 1am to 3am, and again at about 5+am. Yes, the poor boy may be trying to sleep, but the teeth just keep growing.
Coffee was the order of the day. Monday blues they call it. We headed back home in the evening, unsure of what "weather" is brewing in Ignatius-Land.
We stepped through the door, and my mother-in-law appeared from the back room, carrying Ignatius. Ignatius saw us, scrunched up his shoulders, broke into the widest toothy grin, his eyes all squinty and happy, his cheeks round and rosy, and went "Hee Hee Hee!"
Need we say more? All Is Forgotten.
