Grrrr...

We are smack dab in the middle of another AWFUL night. Miles is tired, furious, and refusing comforting. He wouldn't fall asleep in the rocking chair with me. His nighttime bottle only seemed to wake him up even more. What else could I do? I laid him down in his crib and hoped he could sort this out on his own. Nope. He's now screaming, and it's after ten o'clock. Jesse, whom I can hear on the monitor, is retrieving the far-flung binkie and whispering hushes. Me, I'm sitting here typing and feeling frustrated. Please tell me that this is related to teething, to those blasted bits of calcium which are slowly slicing their way in, taking their leisurely time in doing so, and holding our evenings hostage. How can something so small hijack an entire family and its sanity? Miles is not acting like himself, and I am not liking myself at the moment- because this is getting very difficult. Fussiness during the day is a hill of beans compared to his nocturnal teething tirades; these bottom gum blitzkriegs are for the birds.