If ever anyone needed an argument against “intelligent design,” I’d say teething is a pretty compelling one.
First, humans benefit from having teeth. I have known edentate individuals in my life, and they gummed their through food to sustain themselves. However, this notwithstanding, I think we can all agree teeth help.
Thus, as teeth are a close to essential part of the human body, why must it be so difficult for them to come in? They hurt so much a person can’t sleep. They give a person a runny nose so that she can’t suck most of her calories down, sucking being the way she was born to get most of her calories in her first year of life. And, tired and hungry, the teething person is generally unpleasant to the people most closely associated with sustaining her life. These people then grow tired, angry, and frustrated in proportion to that of the teether, and do not wish to be in her presence for continuous wakeful hours.
Now, humanity has been given intellect to invent things. Things like orajel, frozen teething rings, etc. And I’ve tried all of these things to little or no affect today. There is no eating or sleeping here. Just teething.
How does this benefit the human race? How am I to gather berries, mend the bison hide, and hide from predators, when the infant won’t. stop. yelling? How are we to survive for her to produce still another generation if she falls into a heap, a milkless insomniac? I DON’T UNDERSTAND UNIVERSE. I DON’T CARE WHY WE ARE HERE AT THE MOMENT, I’M JUST AMAZED THAT WE STILL ARE.
Now, if there is a theory out there called “ironic” design or “it’s fun to mock you fief” design, then okay, I get it. There is a force out there while perhaps “intelligent” also has a quirky sense of humor. I’d say “sadistic” but that is probably heresy. So I’ll refrain.
And sure, you could argue birth hurts blah blah blah and so does other processes that have to do with continued life on the planet. But these things generally happen to people who have the cognitive ability to cope. I would just like to put out there that there is little intelligent about the current process of teething.
If you agree, feel free to copy and paste this letter I composed and send to your local intelligent design representative.
Dear God [Or other Intelligent Designer Salutation],
Teething. Really? Really? You could do better.
Sincerely,
[Concerned Citizen] Adrienne
PS Actually, the whole “problem of suffering” thing is, frankly, not so great either. Please refer to your troubleshooting department immediately.
Who do you suppose it was who first thought, “You know what an infant girl would look good in? Velour! Cheetah print! But, no, that’s not enough . . . it needs something else. Something innocent. Butterflies! That’s it! We will make velour track pants in cheetah print-no, make that PINK cheetah print, and a matching top with butterflies lined in pink cheetah print velour. Yes! I rock! And they said I couldn’t design while huffing paint!”
The odd thing is, the kid looks good in it. She can pull off pink cheetah print butterfly velour.
Sadly, this is the least of my worries when it comes to TheologyBaby’s clothes. That outfit was purchased for Christmas by her great-grandmother, and is infinite measures more tasteful that a lot of things I’ve seen in the kid’s size. She has one outfit that is a midriff top and a mini-skirt (another gift). Midriff? For the pudge? She has no waist to speak of, just a roll of chubbins that sticks out over top the denim (well-intentioned?) skirt. And I have tried to teach her about irony, about why this outfit is kind of funny, but ultimately it just leaves me feeling kind of sad to see her in it. So I change her into a sassy Gap onsie that says “teething bites” or “my crib rocks” or some such punk baby rocker pithy saying.
But it does not end there. Another outfit that I saw in a store that may or may not rhyme with “Shmallmart” had a pair of sweat pants with the word “hottie” on the butt, with a matching hoodie. And then there were the low-cut dresses featuring FISH NET in-lays. Isn’t that a choking hazard? Fish nets? For infants? Again, I assume, paint huffing designers.
Eventually I assume she will demand to wear make-up at age six or shave her head in high-school. Whatever. I have long said that as long as she doesn’t expect me to call her college to complain about her roommate, I will consider myself successful as a parent. Her appearance is up to her and the code of conduct of whatever institution to which she is subject (like, say, laws requiring clothes in public). But while this sort of thing is in my control, I have vowed to avoid making my toddler look like a Bratz doll. Gender her in pink sparkle cutesy-shmutsey I will (so help me, those little dresses are so stinkin’ cute), but it’s tasteful gendering. Which years from now will make all the difference to her therapist I’m sure.
Let’s hypothetically say that a mother realizes that she is dangerously low on a few essential items like, oh say for example, diapers, wipes, and food. So, despite the 80 percent chance of thunderstorms the weather channel is predicting, she decides that she must go out with her infant to the store.
Let’s also then say that while walking to the grocery store (for the family did not own a car, living in a city where such a thing is often more tomfoolery than it is worth) she comes to a large intersection where two busy streets cross, and there is at least one rotary involved.
The mother reaches the intersection just as the little man indicating “walk” lights up, so she proceeds across the street in the crosswalk. Three law-abiding cars pull to a stop, as their light is red. A fourth car is approaching the intersection, but no one seems to think much of it as this is a street and often cars roll down streets.
However, upon almost stopping, it becomes apparent that this car is a police vehicle, as it turns on its lights and starts the siren blaring. The mother, who was half way across the street, poised close to the double yellow lines that put her in the path of this sirened vehicle, has the bejebees scared out of her. The baby startles. The cars that were stopped seemed confused. They beep at the mother and baby, who are for a moment frozen with indecision. Turn around? Stay still? Continue moving because the hand on the signal has started blinking?
So the mother decides to just finish crossing the street. Sirens are still blaring, cars are trying to pull over. Oh, and it starts to rain. And a giant thunderclap booms overhead.
The mother, still with no bejebees but otherwise undaunted, pulls on to the sidewalk to cross yet another street to get to the grocery store. However, the police car, who obviously is very busy and important to turn on its siren with little warning, pulls over to the curb where the mother is waiting.
It starts to rain harder. The mother bends down to get the stroller rain cover and notices that she forgot a rain coat or umbrella. “Diapers are worth it,” she mutters to herself.
“Excuse me!” Comes a voice, from a window of the police car, whose lights are still flashing. “Excuse ME!” The mother looks up, wrestling with the plastic sheath the baby hates, trying to secure it against the win.
“Young woman, I had my sirens on. That means I am to go by. You had no business getting in the way of traffic.” The mother wipes rain out of her faith. The baby kicks and starts to squawk in protest that the stroller is not moving. Cue more thunder.
“Um, I’m sorry?” Things race through the mothers head. Like, “But my light was on!” Or, “Dude, are you freaking kidding me, it’s raining!” Or even, “The first time in four days I get to blow-dry my hair and it is now soaking wet I HATE YOU POLICE MAN.”
“You shouldn’t have that baby out in this weather.” With that he rolls up the window, peels away, and turns on his siren again.
The mother is now soaking. The baby is miserable. The thunder rolls.
She gets diapers, but is still pretty annoyed, an hour later.
Given this hypothetical situation, should the mother, say, right a letter in protest (despite the fact that she failed to get any details about the police car, and due to where she lives, it could be one of two cities police man or even a state trooper?) Or just think mean thoughts about lawmen? Or write an annoyed post on her blog?
Well. I guess it will probably be number three. If I were her. Hypothetically.
"Did you eat lunch?”
“Yeah, they had birthday cake for all of the June birthdays at church and then I had a sandwich leftover from the LGBT group meeting.”
“LGBT? What did you have? A BLT? HA!”
“Yup. That’s what the event is called on the poster. (G)BLT.”
“Seriously?”
“No.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” *shakes head sadly.*
“Wow.”




