Toothgate. Again.

It wasn't even 09.30am and I'd already flushed three cat shits, mopped up The Toddlers thrown spilled cup of water that was attempting to make the carpet grow and discovered Things One and Two's insults they've been leaving each other finger written on the bathroom window.

The day didn't improve.  By evening there was raucous debate between Thing Two and The Husband which resulted in Thing Two running upstairs to hide and of course to cry.  For you see, it was that time again, Toothgate.  Her latest wobbler had been hanging on my a flimsy prayer to some forgotten deity for weeks on end, with Thing Two point blank refusing to pull the dastardly thing out nor allow anyone else to.  Fair enough you might say, however it had reached the point where it was hurting her and interfering with eating.  Not good.  We tried pussyfooting around our little strangeling with gentle suggestions, we tried being fair but firm and eventually we resorted to that age old parenting tool; bribery.  Finally after hearing her whimper at it hurting yet again yet refuse to be helped, The Husband (nicknamed The Volcano by Thing Two) predictably erupted from sheer bloody exasperation at Thing Two's patented brand of stubbornness.  Rather than put the fear of Dad up her it merely fed the demons of bloodymindedness which in turn fueled The Volcano.  Utter buggers, the pair of them.

I managed to skillfully extricate myself from bed without waking The Toddler (hoorah!) and spent nearly 90 minutes attempting to gently soothe and reason with Little Miss Unreasonable  She was having none of it.  Arse.

So let us fast forward to an hour or so later once The Husband had bogged off out on his bicycle to commune with the night or sacrifice chickens or whatever it is he does and I hear a knock on the bedroom door.  Her tooth was hurting.  So starts over another hour of discussing, explaining, reassuring and bribery yet to no avail.  Thing One was getting increasingly pissed off judging by the growls from his room and muttered threats to punch the hellish thing out in a minute if Thing Two didn't shut up soon and The Toddler who was knackered yet refusing to allow me to leave the room without him, was wobbling and rocking sat on the carpet with sleep heavy eyes rolling in the sockets.  Did I mention that The Toddler has caught Thing Two's cough and cold so is poorly too?  Give me strength.  Give me intravenous Gin. She knew the only solution was pulling the tooth out as well as I did.  It virtually swayed when she breathed it was that loose.  I'm getting increasingly exasperated having used up a years worth of patience in one night and she gets increasingly hysterical.  The neighbours must think she's being butchered, she's screaming that loud.  Then comes the hyperventilating to the point she's near retching.  Give me strength. Give me a fucking miracle. Thing One is getting ever closer to slamming her tooth out with his fist and The Toddler is staring blankly at a wall as if tripping on some epic dope.  She attempted to pull it out yet failed.  She agreed I could try but as soon as I got anywhere near her she screeched like a wanton banshee. Terrific.

Eventually she whimpered herself to sleep with tooth in-situ, Thing One performed his usual in bed noisy acrobatics and I took a sleep addled Toddler back to bed.  Bloody wonderful.

Did the night end there? Did it heck as like.  Houston, we have a problem.  Or more specifically vomit.  Thankfully not the chunky variety, just the gooey ectoplasmic crap.  Yummy.

.....and people wonder why I eat chocolate for breakfast.  It's medicinal.