Alas, Wendy has entered into the first phase of teething, which shall henceforth be known as the Time of Woe.
The Woe seems to have decended upon us early, though our pediatrician assures us that many babies begin their Woe at four-and-a-half months; that we might not see an actual fang from the Woeful One for another two or three months; that despite her dramatic proclimations, we should not be alarmed.
I would like at this time to point out that our pediatrician is a man, and unless he has a kinky mistress who is much older than him, he has no idea how it feels to have his nipples clamped in the gnawing vice grip of a cranky infant with itchy gums.
Aside from my very alarmed nipples, there is the whining. Have I mentioned yet that my baby is a very vocal baby? I have no doubt that every squeal and moan describes exactly how she is feeling at the moment, and though it is literally migraine-inducing, I feel horrible for her. I am constantly presenting her with things to chew on that might ease the Woe...a warm gel-filled teether shaped like a foot, a piece of ice wrapped in a washcloth, a carrot, etc. Nothing seems to help that much, and often, her frustration at the unhelpfulness of the object actually increases her Woe, sending her usual litany of cranky whines into furious shrieks of...fury. The only time she ceases her proclimations on the unfortunate state of cutting teeth is when she's in some kind of swing. She really likes the swing.
Well, swinging seems to sooth her troubled soul, anyway. As you can see, a hint of Woe shadows even the Most Fun Activity Ever.
I guess I'll be scouting out some more local parks. Parks with many swings, and in a perfect world, a snack bar that serves booze.