Why That Horrifying Teeth Grinding Sound Your Baby Makes Is Fine

It was exactly 2:14 in the morning when I first heard it. A rhythmic, grating sound cutting through the otherwise silent nursery, like someone slowly crushing chalk with a mortar and pestle, or perhaps a tiny, furious geologist trying to break down sedimentary rock with only their face. My first thought, predictably, was that a rodent had breached the perimeter of our London terrace. My second thought was that the alarm on my wife's translucent pink, profoundly nineties Baby G watch—which has lived in the back of a drawer since roughly 2012—was finally malfunctioning in some demonic way.

I crept into the twins' room, completely prepared to do battle with a rogue squirrel, only to find Florence, wide awake, staring into the middle distance, aggressively sliding her newly minted upper incisors against her bottom pegs.

If you Google "baby grinding teeth" in the middle of the night (a rookie error that I, despite knowing better, commit weekly), you'll be led to believe that your child is either harbouring deep, unexpressed psychological trauma regarding the global economy, or that their jaw is permanently misaligned and you should immediately remortgage your house for future orthodontic bills. The internet loves to take a weird thing your baby does and weaponise it against your fragile parental ego.

But then I dragged my exhausted self and two drool-covered two-year-olds to our local GP. Our doctor, a wonderfully pragmatic woman who has seen me at my absolute lowest, looked at my panicked expression, sighed, and explained that what Florence was doing—clinically known as bruxism—is basically just a bizarre hobby that a huge chunk of infants take up simply because they can.

The slippery bite and other absurd reasons this happens

I'm somewhat convinced that human teething is an evolutionary prank. Think about the sheer, unmitigated stupidity of the design: we send a tiny, non-verbal human into the world, and then over the next two years, we subject them to a slow-motion torture where jagged little calcium rocks slice their way through their sensitive gums. If this happened to an adult, we would demand two weeks of paid leave, a steady supply of strong analgesics, and the immediate sympathy of everyone we know. Instead, when it happens to a baby, we hand them a wooden ring and cheerfully tell them to crack on.

It turns out that this agonizing process is the main reason they grind. Our GP explained that the grinding creates a sort of counter-pressure that temporarily relieves the deep, throbbing ache of a tooth pushing its way into the world. Florence wasn't grinding her teeth because I let her watch too much television; she was grinding them because her face hurt, and aggressively mashing her jaw together felt momentarily brilliant.

There's also this concept she mentioned called a "slippery bite," which sounds like a mediocre pub rock band but is actually just what happens when teeth erupt unpredictably. A baby's bite suddenly feels totally alien to them. Their jaw naturally shifts and grinds to figure out where its new resting position is supposed to be, almost like a dog circling a rug before lying down, but with more saliva. Add to this the fact that babies explore the entire universe via their mouths, and suddenly discovering they've hard, clicky bones built into their heads is a sensory novelty they just can't resist playing with.

Sometimes they also just do it because they're moving between sleep cycles, which is whatever.

Distraction via aesthetically pleasing chew toys

Since you can't negotiate with a teething toddler (I've tried; they don't respect logic), your only real option during daylight hours is tactical misdirection. My survival strategy generally involves frantically shoving something safe into their mouths the second I hear that horrific grating sound begin.

We're a two-teether household, mostly because twins require you to own two of everything unless you actively enjoy refereeing cage matches. I'll admit to having a clear favourite weapon in my arsenal. The Panda Teether Silicone Baby Bamboo Chew Toy is Florence's absolute holy grail. It's flat enough that she can aggressively manoeuvre it all the way to her emerging molars (a move that terrifies me, though it's perfectly safe because of the wide shape), and the food-grade silicone gives exactly the right amount of resistance. It doesn't look like a clinical medical device, which is a bonus, and I can throw it in the dishwasher when it inevitably gets dropped onto the pavement outside the local off-licence. She chews on this thing with the intensity of a cigar-chomping mob boss, and more importantly, it stops the sound of grinding teeth.

On the other hand, we've the Bear Teething Rattle Wooden Ring Sensory Toy, which is objectively gorgeous. It's got this beautifully crafted crochet cotton bear attached to an untreated beechwood ring, and it looks like it belongs in a minimalist Scandinavian nursery rather than our chaotic living room. The problem is, Matilda respects it too much. She holds it, strokes the little crochet ears, gives it a gentle shake to hear the rattle, and then goes right back to grinding her own teeth. It's a wonderful sensory toy, and perhaps your child is more refined than mine and will actually gnaw on the wood, but for us, it's become more of a cherished companion than a practical gum-soother.

For a middle ground, the Handmade Wood & Silicone Teether Ring has actually been quite brilliant. It combines the hard, unforgiving texture of natural wood (which sometimes is exactly what a deeply furious set of gums requires) with soft, brightly coloured silicone beads. I just wipe the wooden bit down with a damp cloth and let them go to town on it. If you're currently wading through the misery of teething and want to browse other things they can legally and safely chew on, you can have a look at Kianao's full teething collection.

My absolute failure at stopping a sleeping infant from clenching

Daytime grinding is easily solved by throwing silicone at the problem until it goes away, but nighttime grinding is an entirely different beast. You're lying in your bed, desperately trying to cling to the fringes of REM sleep, and through the baby monitor comes the unmistakable sound of your child attempting to sand down their enamel.

Our health visitor, a woman of infinite patience, suggested I try to soothe their nervous system before bed to reduce nighttime jaw tension. Her suggestions involved a calm, dimly lit bath, followed by gentle infant massage, soothing classical music, and a peaceful transition into the cot. I listened to this advice, nodded sagely, and went home to try it. I dimmed the lights, which made Florence furious because she couldn't see the cat. I attempted a gentle infant jaw massage (an internet suggestion I should have known better than to try), which resulted in me nearly losing my index finger to her incisors. I put on some Bach, which Matilda loudly talked over for forty-five minutes.

Ultimately, I realised that you can't control what a sleeping baby does with their face. Our GP assured me that somewhere between twenty and thirty-odd percent of babies grind their teeth in their sleep. How they honestly gathered those statistics without installing microphones in thousands of cots is totally beyond my comprehension, but I choose to believe it because it makes me feel less alone.

I did try the old wives' tale of putting a damp flannel in the fridge to offer as cold therapy before bed. The idea is that the cold numbs the gums and reduces the urge to grind. I handed a perfectly chilled, slightly damp cloth to Florence. She looked at me with a mixture of pity and absolute disgust, threw the cold cloth directly onto the floor, and went back to chewing on her own fist.

When to really bother the dentist

The hardest part of modern parenting is trying to decipher when a weird symptom is just a "quirky developmental milestone" and when it's an "urgent medical crisis." Because the sound of bruxism is so viscerally awful—seriously, it sets my teeth on edge just thinking about it—it feels like an emergency.

But filtering all the panicked Google searches through my deeply imperfect understanding of pediatric dentistry, the consensus seems surprisingly relaxed. Our dentist basically told me to ignore it unless I see actual, physical destruction. If you let them go at it like a tiny woodchipper for years, there's a small chance they might file their baby teeth down or chip an edge, at which point a professional should probably have a look. You should also probably ring the clinic if your kid wakes up crying and rubbing their jaw, as that might mean the grinding is giving them a headache or an earache (or worse, that an ear infection is really what's causing them to grind in the first place to relieve the pressure).

But if they're just cheerfully destroying your peace of mind while watching Bluey, or doing it rhythmically while fast asleep, it's almost certainly fine. They will grow out of it. Usually right around the time they discover some other, completely new way to terrify you.

Before you spiral down an internet rabbit hole about infant jaw alignment and temporomandibular joint disorders, go make a cup of tea. Accept that your house will occasionally sound like a tiny construction site for the next few months, and maybe invest in some heavy-duty distraction tools to take the edge off. Have a look at our full range of sustainable baby products to find something your little one might really prefer chewing over their own teeth.

The messy reality of baby teeth grinding (FAQ)

Is my baby grinding their teeth because I'm a stressed and anxious parent?

No, and whoever told you that deserves to step on a rogue piece of Lego in the dark. While older kids and adults absolutely grind their teeth due to stress (I myself have worn down a molar stressing over nursery fees), babies are usually doing it because their gums hurt, their bite feels weird, or they just discovered they've jaw muscles and are taking them for a test drive. You haven't transmitted your anxiety to them; they're just teething.

Will they grind their baby teeth down to the actual gums?

It sounds like they're doing irreversible damage, I know. But baby teeth are temporary, and the vast majority of kids stop doing this long before they cause any real wear and tear. Unless you can physically see their teeth flattening out or chipping—in which case, yes, ring the dentist—try not to panic. The noise is far worse than the actual friction.

Should I wake them up if they start grinding loudly in their sleep?

If you willingly wake a sleeping baby, you're a much braver person than I'm. Honestly, no. Waking them up just means you now have an awake, crying baby who will probably go right back to grinding once you finally get them back to sleep. Let them sleep, maybe put a pillow over your own head, and accept that it's a phase.

Can I just give them Calpol every single night to stop the teething pain?

As much as I've stared longingly at the little purple bottle of Calpol at 3am, the GP was quite clear that we shouldn't be giving it routinely every single night just to stop the grinding. It's meant for intense pain and fever. If they're actively crying and distressed by teething, absolutely use it (following the dosing instructions, obviously), but if they're just happily grinding away like a tiny buzzsaw while otherwise content, you've to let them get on with it.

Why does my baby only seem to grind their teeth when we've guests over?

Because babies are natural comedians who thrive on making you look slightly unhinged in front of your friends. Seriously, it's likely a form of sensory stimulation. When there's a lot going on—new people, loud voices, disrupted routines—they might grind their teeth as a subconscious self-soothing mechanism or just because they're excited. Or, in Florence's case, to assert dominance over my mother-in-law.