Why Are My Teeth Trying to Kill Me?

Good to gnaw you

I've often thought about the irony of human biology and how the necessary mechanisms of growing, and later, of disintegrating, have to happen to the super-vulnerable: the very young and the very old.  It seems mean, doesn't it, that the really rough stuff mostly happens to those who are least equipped to deal with it?

Teething seems to me a prime example.  Milo has cut his first tooth, and is probably on the way to the second, and the kid is miserable.  And why not?  A miniature enamel razor blade took its sweet time sawing through his tender little gums.  But for the fact that we need teeth to eat, it's pretty clear to me that we should all do our teething as teenagers, so at least there'd be a reason to be so moody and belligerent.

Better yet, how about we redesign the process so that human babies come out like colts do?  Horses totally have the right idea.  The mom just plops the baby out on the ground, and the colt stands up on its skinny, rickety legs, takes one look at the steaming pile of gestational gunk from which it emerged, and walks away.  Wouldn't you?

Instead, babies have to go through months (years??!) of misery as their teeth come in, wildly putting their hands, their parents' hands, perfect strangers' hands into their mouths to ease the pain.  While Milo has continued to chew -- perhaps with renewed vigor -- on his teething rings and toys, he has begun chewing on his bibs, on his sleeves, on the front part of his onesies that he can grab.  Anything!  Everything!  The better to eat you with!