Don't let this sweet face fool you

There's a trailer on TV lately for a new werewolf movie, in which Academy Award winner Anthony Hopkins informs Academy Award winner Benicio del Toro, "You've been bitten by the beast." It's our favorite thing to say to each other these days, now that Bea is settling in to grow her second set of teeth and always eager to try them out on anything or anyone she can get her mouth around.

Watching the changes in her mouth lately, I can see where moviemakers might have found their inspiration for werewolf special effects. It's amazing how fast things are happening in there, new teeth erupting like volcanoes almost every day. One day it's all cute little puppy nippers. Then one day they've fallen out and there are two big new chompers, right in the middle, with nothing but blank, bloody gums on either side. They gave her a cute little buck-toothed smile.



Within a week the holes are filled and her new grown-up teeth are so big it almost looks like she's wearing dentures. The tiny little needle-like puppy fangs are still there, though.



Until one day, they're not. I found three of them on the floor, along with two molars, and the remaining fang still hanging in there with the giant grown-up one growing in right in front of it.



It's amazing to me that it can all happen so fast – less than a month ago she still had all her original puppy teeth. And she's not nearly finished yet. Along with the 28 baby teeth that will be replaced, she'll also grow 14 more in the next couple of months for a grand total of 42 teeth. She's understandably mouthy, but not any more than you'd expect. I've been massaging her face, jaws and gums with my fingers a few times a day, which she seems to really enjoy, and I'm happy to report her bite inhibition is great – it's been weeks since she's cut either of us with her teeth, even though she's had our hands in her mouth more than ever lately.

I don't know what I'm going to do with the teeth I found. I have eight of them so far, enough for some kind of keepsake. A rattle? Jewelry? A special box with an engraved lid? Still thinking.

Summer is almost over, I think. It's felt very long and sort of timeless for me this year. I've fallen back into a rhythm of sorts, though not always a very satisfying one; I always have things to do if I can summon the energy to do them, but it's lonely to be alone at home so much of the time even if I'm busy, and still hard to find other people to do things with during the day.

Last weekend I felt like I'd turned a corner with the depression. Saturday morning I woke up feeling peaceful and rested and alive, and felt good the entire day. That lasted until Wednesday, when the anxiety started creeping in again. Today I'm up, but still very tired and a little nervous despite a long walk and yoga this morning. It felt good, though, to feel good. A reminder of what's possible, and that it really IS possible for me. I've experienced it before, and will again.

It's still been only four weeks since I started the drugs – supposedly too soon to be feeling the full effect. And I know my hormones are starting to go wonky as well, which could take up to ten years or more to resolve, according to my doctor. Grrrrreat. I feel like I'm living in a state of perpetual PMS, without even the comfort of knowing when it will be over, since my cycles are starting to go crazy too – 36 days one month, 22 days the next. I'm dealing with it OK though, I think. I guess I am. What does anyone do, really? What IS there to do, but just keep living each day as it comes? And try to find as much as possible to enjoy in every one of them?

At some point I'm going to need to find a job. I'm starting a new little very part-time gig next week managing a retail website, at a ridiculously low rate, just for something to do. I also reactivated my substitute teaching permit. Who knows, maybe I'll find out I love teaching and go back to finish my credential. Or not. This is something I'm trying not to think too much about right now, actually. It's just too stressful to look for jobs and find nothing, nothing, nothing, or to read all the doom and gloom in the news about how it's only going to be getting worse and worse and worse .... As Mr. A keeps reminding me, we are OK, we're in no danger of not being OK, and my job right now is to take care of the human needs of our family, including my own health.

Entire paragraph deleted here, documenting the long list of dreary fears that come up whenever I start letting my mind ride this train of thought. I've finally realized that writing them down only makes them feel stronger, and I no longer think it's useful to keep track of what they are, since they've been basically the same for as long as I can remember. Better to move on to something else. Or nothing. A quiet mind and a calm body.

I had another revision to my recurring dream about moving into a new house. In the most recent versions, I keep going back to houses I used to live in, and trying to move back in. Usually there's already somebody else living there and I look around feeling kind of jealous that the place seems to have improved since I left – it's usually a lot bigger and more interesting than I remembered it, but there's no place for me there and I can see it isn't mine anymore. This time I went up into the attic and found it destroyed by water. You couldn't see it from in the house, but the roof was broken and the whole structure was rotting from the inside. I started trying to convince the person who was showing me around that it could be fixed, and that I'd be happy to do the work if only I could stay. But then I stopped myself. It had been a good house once, but it was wrecked. And I thought, "I can do better than this. I don't have to live in a broken down, rotting old house."

It's the first time in any of those dreams that I can remember walking away from it by my own decision. I'm not exactly sure how this relates to the life I'm living now, or trying to live, but I feel sure that it does. When the next steps become clear, I'll take them.