I’m learning quickly that in infants, teeth announce their arrival like kings of old—with lots and lots of fanfare.

Last night, the spectacle took a number of heinous forms, including multiple crying fits (one of them lasted 90 minutes…at 3 a.m.), an ornery little girl and a poop explsion that somehow managed to rocket from baby booty on the changing table across the room to hit the far wall.

Powergirl and I combated this onslaught in shifts: I took 9 p.m. to 1 a.m., she took the graveyard (1-6 a.m.) and I picked up again from 6-9 a.m.

Needless to say, we were zombies for most of the day.

Luckily, excitement over the imminent eruption of L’s second tooth counterbalanced this exhaustion. We can see the ridge! It’s right next to her first one! Soon she won’t look like a little pirate! The superlatives go on and on (I believe Powergirl actually squealed when she heard the sound of new tooth clicking against an old rattle).

In the scheme of things, I guess I understand why these chompers give little ones such fits and starts; tooth eruption has got to be one of the most painful experiences for the little humans since birth itself.

That said, despite an endless supply of patience for my little girl, I’ve had more than enough tooth-related drama for one month.

I know: It doesn’t get any easier. I just hope at least one of these buggers comes in by surprise.