Bite me!

Punk is teething.
Again
Still
Perpetually.
She's down to the last five teeth she needs and she's determined to milk those suckers for all they are worth.
That means no sleep for mommy. Nope, we're up holding her while she head butts me and stares at me and pokes her mutant monkey toes into my flesh.
In the dark of night, it's reminiscent of being pregnant again, only from the outside, that feeling of not having control of my body due to an invader that won't let you rest. It's the surreal phantom movements that pregnant women experience, and I found myself reliving those while I held Punk to my breast and spooned her to my stomach.
Okay, back to Punk and her chompers.
Teething tabs don't help.
She's getting nothing from Motrin or Tylenol.
I'm getting liver disease from the liquor I'm imbibing to survive.
Teething is a rotten, cruel, ugly business and the Universe's way of giving parents the smack down.
Just when we're feeling like we're in control, in come the pearly whites and your child starts giving Linda Blair a run for her money.
I'm tired. I'm done. I'm thinking about handing her the bottle of liquor--Godiva, just so you know.
She can't be any meaner as a drunk!