We have molars.
Three in fact.
All broken through in the last day.
My daughter has returned to her normal happy, evil self, which makes the Man and I breathe a sigh of relief.
And they weren't the teeth we were expecting.
Punk has three front top teeth, two front bottom teeth, then skips two places, and has one bottom molar and two top molars.
My daughter has baby Billy Bob teeth.
But my wee little hillbilly is sleeping once more and has stopped schreeching at the moon like a cat in heat, so I don't really care.
I'll invest in baby dentures and call it good.
The world is a happy place once more.
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