Teething?

Three nights ago Olive was up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder. Bad. Worst night ever. The second two nights she was extremely restless, sleeping only in short spurts. As a result, I've gotten hardly any sleep. Oftentimes she won't nap for long enough for me to fall asleep, too. Her social outings have been successful affairs in the past, but when my friend, Ben, and I went with her to lunch at Laurienzo's in Mt. Airy (where our waiter, commenting on Olive, knew she was a girl without having to be told or corrected!), she threw a crying fit so violent and ear-splitting that we were forced to relocate to the heat of outside in an effort to spare the other paying customers. (On a side note, however - her ill tempter aside - she still managed to recruit an adoring fan in Ben, and they're becoming the great friends I knew they would be. It's my hope that, during the course of the summer, she'll see Ben as a surrogate Rob, though I don't imagine she'll be that easily fooled; Ben's not exactly my type. A positive male role model, nonetheless).
Her daytime naps have been quick, so I can't complete much illustration work. I'm not sure whether or not it's due to the onset of teething - the age is about right, though she's not displaying many of the typical symptoms. I put her on Hyland's homeopathic teething tablets, though, just in case that is the culprit. Much of the time she's squawky and in constant need of physical stimulation. Part of me suspects that she's reacting to Rob's absence. Some have discounted this theory, saying that she's still too young and that, with me still being her primary parent - the feeder - she'd adjust fine. All I know is that her abrupt sleep and behavioral change coincided with his leaving, so what's to say that it's not a matter of her simply missing him? I can't say that I blame her.
I guess this is what I get for being boastful of my "perfect" baby.



Ben wasn't sure what to make of Buggy's ample upper leg chub: "What's this for?" he inquired, puzzling over that particular roll as though it must serve a special purpose. All of that pudge has to go somewhere.