Sweet dreams?

I'm crabby, and a popsicle would make me feel a billion percent better. But nooooo- all of the rocket pops have been scarfed down by someone less grouchy and not attuned to my mopey feelings. Why am I being such a sour sport you ask? Even if you didn't ask, I'm gonna tell you anyways because I'm fussy and in serious need of a Firecracker or a Pop-Up. I just spent two hours trying to get Miles down for bedtime. Two hours of screeching, kicking, singing, hushing, pleading, bottle bribing... Miles is close to cutting two more teeth, and when those gums are pissed off, no one can rest. One quadrant of his mouth is battling a slow moving molar. Another quadrant looks like mouth bubbling building to burst. Gross image, but that's what it looks like to me. This round of teething has ushered in ear infections, snotty nostrils, and sour attitudes. That final side effect is contagious. Obviously.

I'm off to soothe my temper with some cut-rate, fat-free blood orange sorbet, a total impulse buy from a few weeks ago. So not what I was craving, but it is all the freezer gods had to offer. Woe is we.