Rats, Mosquitoes, and Teething

So my original idea for this post was that I would compare the purposeless nature of rats and mosquitoes with painful teething.  As my daughter screams her lungs out, very angry and upset, I wonder why God made the process so painful.  I thought a good comparison would be rats and mosquitoes, because what human can find use for them?  But upon a very cursory Google search, I found the answers to both inquiries within 30 seconds.

Rats are scavengers and are important to the animal kingdom, and well... we humans exploit their existence via scientific testing and our own personal gain.  So there goes THAT comparison.

Then, I looked up mosquitoes.  And though it took quite a while to get to their purpose, it seems that they pollenate some plants.  And well, I do believe in breathing oxygen and the more we cut down these darned plants, the less likely we are to be breathing oxygen (a joke, sort of!)

And in the same vein, I've had to find the purpose to painful teething at the seventh degree of separation.  It surely isn't the pain in my daughter's eyes that could serve the purpose.  Certainly my daughter has done nothing wrong and doesn't deserve this pain.  So maybe the pain is for me to suffer any wrong I've done.  But that theory is just ill-fitting.  I don't believe God has such a direct "tit for tat" nature.  Yet, maybe the pain is to test the parents and those around the child, to keep their cool.  It is, if you will, the taking off of the training wheels to up the anti when puberty and hormones strike.  Tim and I do have our moments when we disagree as to the method for calming our child and curing her pain.

But, after a particularly grueling night, during which I worked on my dissertation while she slept, and then unfortunately was called to "calming down baby" duty immediately upon lying in bed, I found the answer.  NOTE:  I said after a particularly grueling night.  This morning was a gift.  I know, corny, but it was.  She cried for almost 2 hours straight - 4am to 6am.  Finally, I got her to calm down and she and I laid in bed and, I feel, had a conversation.  She chewed on her toy, babbled, and cooed.  I tickled her a little bit and smothered her with kisses.  And she let me because she was exhausted.  She looked directly in my eyes and smiled her big, wide smile. We were both tired, but during that half hour, she let me know that she understood: it was not my fault that these teeth hurt.

Yet, who knows.  Tonight, she may scream and cry and look at me as if to say, "Why?"  And for mornings like these, it may not make it better, but may at least cancel out.