Hey buddy, can you spare some time?

My darling baby is 5 1/2 months old.

What do you really accomplish in that time, being a baby and all?

Well, you certainly accomplish wiggling your way into the heart of every family member.

You poop and eat and sleep pretty efficiently.

You smile and coo and giggle and possibly, maybe, even roll over.

You may begin to teeter ever so precariously as you learn how to balance on that round rump of yours, you know, sitting up.

You may even eat solids and cry when mom leaves the room.

Families produce different types of accomplishments in their progeny.

My sister's kids all get their teeth at like 4 months or something crazy like that.

One friend's children have walked around the 15 month mark. While I've heard of children who walked at 8 months.

So you see, there is a wide range of normal.

However, for my family, teeth do not show up on my little round bottomed,gummy babies until around 9 months.

This has been the bar that has been set and not one child of mine has dared to raise (or lower, whichever you choose) that bar.

Until now.

Last night as I allowed Nora to gnaw on my finger, I discovered something extraordinary.

My sweet, little, tiny 5 month old, my last baby, is sprouting a tooth.

Oh, the humanity!! (Isn't that something people say when they are in despair?)

This, you see, is not allowed.

Only 2 days ago I was quietly contemplating how fortunate I was to have children who don't get teeth til they are 9 months old.

First of all, it makes nursing much nicer.

But secondly, and equally as important, they maintain a lovely, drooly, toothless grin thereby retaining a newborn appearance, to me anyway.

But, really, I should have known that something was up with this child of mine.

Not only is she my only child to get teeth before 8 months or so, she also rolled over the earliest (3 1/2 months)is sitting up at 5 1/2 months and has started pushing herself up onto her arms. Of course that means that crawling is next.



Now I realize this is not in the amazing category for many mothers.

But we are average to slightly late bloomers in this house.

With the exception of Julia (she was a little early at everything as well and walked at 10 months), every one got teeth, rolled over, crawled and walked at around the same pace.

Perhaps if Nora was any of my other children I would exclaim that she is so advanced and will probably be an amazing athlete, or something.

But seeing as how she is my last child, I have foolishly held on to wanting the time to go slowly.

So tonight, when I felt that new little tooth, I did what any other mother in my position might do.

I bawled my eyes out.

I moaned that it was too soon, that it was going by too fast, that I couldn't stand that I was not going to have anymore babies and how dare she do anything earlier than I anticipated?

Then I did, again, what any mother in my position might do, and I promptly attempted to get a picture of the little budder.

As I wrestled with my tiny snuggler, attempting to time the pushing of the camera button exactly as her tongue went back into her mouth, I realized something.

I am no more in control of how fast I want life to go by then I am of that little tongue darting in and out of those perfectly formed little lips.



So does that mean I've accepted my fate of mother to a baby who is boldly going where no Allen baby has gone before?

Perhaps.

Because somewhere between intermittent crying and exhilaration at her strength and, uh, early-ness, I know that I chose this life, with all the happiness, joy and bloomers, both early and late.

Yes, I will cry when she crawls and walks and talks and goes to kindergarten, just like I did with everyone else.

But they won't all be sad tears, no.

Because I get to be here for part of their journey on earth, and what a beautifully bumpy little ride it is.