Oh my gosh. I love my MIL. I really do. She's great with the boys. She cooks and cleans while she's here. Yes, it's true. She bought us Chinese take-out for dinner last night since it's impossible to take us out for a meal with the boys. She's an avid gardener and planted the bed by our mailbox and another bed in our front yard today, and she paid for half of the stuff to do it. She's awesome!

But, she's. driving. me. crazy. She gets so wound up about things. Something's not right with Andrew at the moment. Could be teeth, belly, butt, nose, ears, growth spurt. Who the f#ck knows? But he screamed for two hours last night right after we had put him to bed. It's pretty nerve-wracking for J and I, because, we don't really know what demon has possessed our baby. All we can do is rock him and walk him and give him baby Tylenol and feed him.

The MIL was all freaked out. "What's wrong with him?"

Then, today, he did the same thing for a couple of hours. She get really rattled because he was doing it part of the time I was gone to pick up D from parents morning out, so she was trying to soothe the screaming A. I took him when I got back and nursed him. He and I fell asleep. She went outside to do more gardening and I thought that would help her relax.

An hour or so later when I went outside to talk to her, she was still all wound up about his crying spell. She just keeps asking what I think is wrong. And I go down the list, but then she'll ask me again two seconds later. She can't stand not having the cause nailed down, having to exist in that space of not really knowing. I know she's probably worried, but argh. I'm worried too, but I don't want to have to hold her hand. I want someone to hold mine and tell me it's going to be OK.

She finally said tonight that she's determined that he's teething. That's what's troubling him. OK Barb, you've figured it out. Whew.