Twenty-Two Accomplishments

Some people, at the end of their career, are able to say things like, "Look at the bridge I designed," or "Listen to this song I wrote," or "Look at the productive American citizens I taught in school." I don't have anything like that to show from what I do day in and day out. I wish I could show you a clean house, but the second I mop the floor, somebody spills something. I fold the laundry, and more lands in the hamper. I clean the bathroom, and within five minutes, Luke doesn't aim quite right. I feed everybody, and pretty soon, somebody is hungry again. When I boast about what I accomplished as a mother, I think all I will have to do is pry open my children's mouths and show you the teeth they grew, pearly white from being polished to a shine with watermenlon-flavored toothpaste. Yes, getting through the teething process is my personal opus.

I guess whether or not teething is difficult for the mother depends on the child. Some have an easy time with it. I once had a close friend tell me, "I always knew when my kids were teething because they just wanted to sleep all the time! We'd get home from church at lunchtime, and I'd put Max down for a nap. I'd have to wake him up for a bottle at night, and then I wouldn't see him again till morning!" The restraint I showed by not slapping her silly when she told me that falls under the umbrella of my great teething accomplishment.

My kids are quite the opposite. Like many children, teething renders them unable to sleep. They require doses of Motrin and homeopathic teething tablets and want to be cuddled all night long. They're prone to frequent screaming fits around the clock. Through teething, Luke had bleeding diaper rash that made every diaper change an emotional roller coaster. I handled nineteen of his twenty teeth on my own, as Joe and Luke seemingly struck a deal that Joe would be in some far-off country through any dental growth. The week my husband left for his second deployment, Luke started cutting six teeth. It was the same week that I had to rush Luke to Urgent Care twice for mysterious hives, I had to replace an oven that wouldn't turn off in the June heat, I killed a snake, and I had to clean up a bunch of glass shards from a mysterious explosion in my dishwasher. And then a little bit later, he cut eight molars at once. It took a month--it was like four exam weeks in a row.

All of these factors have led me to look at my son's smile and see much more than teeth. I look at his big, cheesy grin and see twenty major accomplishments. I view his teeth very much the same way I viewed my merit badges in Girl Scouts. I worked for them. His mouth is like my green vest.

This week, I'm pulling long hours through the night with George, who is finally going to be able to eat steak, it seems. I was so excited this morning when I put his fork in his mouth and I felt and heard a scraping of teeth. I imagine that this elation I feel is akin to how the Forty-Niners felt when they struck gold in California. Two down, eighteen go to. I look at Luke, smiling at me, and see twenty little promises that I will get through this, and that someday, I'll have forty little merit badges to boast.