Filling the gaps

I had lunch with Lyla and my mom, and Lyla just barely tolerated us. Back at home she took a nap and woke up hot. Her armpit told us she was feverish, and her finger in her mouth and the drool running down her chin told us why.

She is becoming saber-toothed.

On her tray is pasta, apple, and bread with hummus. She was also offered apple sauce and two types of crackers. She declined every item, and not politely. After some angry gulps of milk, she demanded to be let down from the highchair, and then she demanded to be picked up.

It does seem like Lyla could stand to grow a tooth or two in there. I don't know how many teeth she's supposed to have at this age, but she looks a little like a hillbilly when she opens wide.

And now as I write this she is full of Tylenol and sleeping through the thunderstorm. Tomorrow, perhaps she'll be full of teeth.