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I was looking at Nathan's little teeth and it struck me that they seem awfully small. He will have these teeth until he is in elementary school. They have to chew up all the food he needs to nourish his little growing body and brain. They have to shine in his charming little smile for years. No doubt they'll be tools in fiendish 4 year old projects. He already uses them to balance himself when he is pulling up on his cruising toy. They've been used to scrape onion and crack Cheerios. All that work for such tiny little teeth in my big boy's jaw.
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He has the "Lamb space" - a largish gap between the top two teeth, passed from my Dad through me and into my little Beaver-Bunny.
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The top two teeth may prove to be the end of breastfeeding. It is physiologically impossible for a nursing baby to bite with bottom teeth while actually eating. The tongue forms a nice little barrier. When the top ones come in, however, all bets are off. He bit me once, experimentally, when he had only bottom teeth. He didn't do it again until he had two top teeth so he could trap my tender tissue between two razor-sharp, steel-hard, crushing-cutting implements. There were two problems. One was the bleeding lesion. The other, more egregious, problem was that my loud, fierce, soul-rending "NO" caused my little darling to start, stare at me for an instant, and then giggle. After all, the "make-a-funny-loud-noise" game is one he loves, being an adrenaline junkie. It seems I will have to find another biting deterrent, but it's hard to think rationally when I am suppressing the urge to toss him away and whimper. So far, I am perservering, but I am a little nervous every time I bare flesh for the newly minted vampire I am raising.
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Looks like he could be getting molars for Christmas.
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