YesterdayI carefully pushed open the door, hoping to minimize the dreadful SKWEECH of wood against wood - a sound so awful, the cats explode away from my ankles like buckshot from a shotgun. The sun filtered through the cottonwood tree, casting speckled shadows on the green wall above the crib. On my tippee toes I padded to the rails to wake the Little Booger for his breakfast. Peeking over the rails expecting a toothless grin and smiling eyes I drew my breath in sharply, my heart skipped a beat or two... or three.
For inside the crib...
lay not a baby...
Not just any 'ol faucet, mind you, it was one of those wide-mouthed faucets used to fill up 3000 gallon luxury tubs - kinda like those found in Pinehurst homes lining the excluive golf course.
Water sloshed against the bumper, the quilted animals treading water, gasping for breath. Closing my eyes, I reached down into the slimy, gooey lake and grabbed the faucet, hoping to turn it off before the upper level of my home caved in from the weight of the liquid deluge.
Pulling the faucet to my chest, I discovered the valve was missing. It let out a squeal and cooed in my ear. It reminded me of the baby that once was - a baby that slobbered a little bit and spit up all over me after feeding.
Squeals turned into shrieks. Shrieks morphed into ear drum splitting screams and an increased flow rate. I was wet!
I secured this baby-turned faucet into his car seat trying to fly under police radar to Babies R Us for some gum medicine.
I'm not sure how that stuff is supposed to work when it gets drooled off the gums all over the baby. I think his belly button was numbed...
A few frozen teething toys later and the faucet slowed - a little bit by drifting into a restless slumber.
At five months plus one week and a day, the teething has begun. Oh what fun.