Remember that moment, twenty minutes into The Phantom Menace, when you got that sickening feeling as you realized that the rest of this story was not only going to suck, but it was going to be so bad that it would retroactively ruin all the enjoyable stuff that had come before it?
I think that’s pretty much how The Squirrelly is feeling about life these days.
Up until now the world has treated him pretty well: he played with toys all day, took naps whenever he chose, saw breasts on a regular basis, and had the freedom to poop in his pants without any fear of social stigma. Livin’ the dream, that kid. But the last couple weeks have been rough. First there was the aforementioned Avery Flu, although, of all the Baldwins, he was the most unscathed. (I, for instance, was both throwing up and thrown up upon.) But right after that he got a runny nose, and then a cough, and last night he had a fever of 102. And through it all he’s been teething, which has really been making him unhappy. Question: what’s the point of feeling pain when you’re teething? To discourage you from growing more teeth? Four million years of evolution and this is the best you can come up with, Darwin?
Anyhow, every once in a while The Squirrelly gives his mother and I the hairy eyeball, clearly resentful of the massive bait-and-switch the world has pulled on him. And all I can do is shrug and say “at least you don’t have to pay fucking’ taxes.”
Fortunately, we’re able to keep his teething discomfort at bay through the miracle of Infant’s Advil, which we administer to him through a small plastic syringe. It’s sugary, fruit-favored goop, and The Squirrelly loves the taste of it — when he sees us pick up the box his eyes totally light up. Ah yes, I’m so glad we’re teaching our child that sweet, numbing relief from the pain of the world comes from a drug in a syringe.