I’ve lamented my son’s first tooth. I’ve griped about it’s disturbing, wiggly qualities. I’ve debated the wisdom of allowing all of Tiny’s teeth to fall out on his dad’s watch. But, in the last few weeks, I’ve taken to griping about the tooth.
During the last month, I’ve dubbed it a squatter. It’s the little tooth still inhabiting a spot in Tiny’s mouth, after being served an eviction notice. I mean, great goodness! A full, adult-sized tooth had already grown behind it. Slow as it was, the shark tooth (what I nicknamed the adult tooth’s decision to grow in way below the gum line) began its ascent into the spot of the squatting tooth. It tooth two months–TWO MONTHS–but the squatter finally started to cave.
When the baby tooth finally decided to lean, Tiny jumped all over a humorous plan to attach a string to the tooth, and affix the other end of the string to the dog.
That plan had “bad idea” written all over it, so I negated the premise, and told Tiny to wiggle, and wiggle away.
Yesterday, when I picked up Tiny from preschool, I asked to see the tooth.
Over the course of two months, I’ve become immune to the tooth’s evil, nasty, wiggly powers. Having asked to see the tooth, and noticing with shock how far I’ve come as a parent, I noticed that the squatter was hanging on by one edge.
That sucker was ready to come out, finally. I told Tiny to wiggle, and wiggle, and wiggle. Nothing happened. Throughout the evening, I made him wiggle the tooth, to no avail. At one point, I told Tiny’s dad that the tooth was ready to come out, but the Tooth Fairy would probably be arriving on his watch, again.
I should add an aside here that Tiny had two wiggly teeth, at the same time. One was barely wiggly, and nowhere near ready to come out. So, logically, it made the brilliant decision to leap out of Tiny’s mouth while he visited his dad. At least one of his teeth was nice enough to follow directions.
Once Tiny brushed his teeth, I noticed the squatting tooth had decided to take a nap in his mouth. It was laying down. I mean, it didn’t even have the willpower to pretend to squat in his mouth any longer. So, like any mother who’s so tired of waiting for a tooth to fall out does, I grabbed a tissue, and pulled the tooth. I’ll admit here that I wasn’t prepared for the amount of blood that comes with helping a tooth along. Yuck.
Parenting should come with a handbook on these things.
Someone should really get on that.
Tiny was so excited to lose the tooth that he bounced around the house with it. We tucked the tooth inside a special Tooth Fairy pillow (which, over the course of two months of waiting, managed to get shredded by the dogs), and then he called everyone. He wanted to show off his new, gaping hole. My twin, by the way, was not impressed. She threatened to hang up on Tiny at least ten times for showing her a bloody stump.
… It’s a good thing she’ll feel my pain over all things tooth related within the next year or so.
I can’t wait.
After calling the entire world, we tucked into bed around eight, Tooth Fairy pillow safely ensconced under his pretty, little head. We read books about the Easter Bunny (I think he mixed up his magical creatures), said prayers, and I kissed his forehead as I left his room, telling him to dream about the Tooth Fairy’s impending visit.
Right here is the point where I mention that I am one of those parents. Elf on the Shelf had a lot of explaining to do this Christmas. The Easter Bunny was almost caught hopping around the perimeter of the house. Santa made enough noise to wake a dead person cursing over a flipping tent that came with the a missing piece. So, logically, I didn’t want the Tooth Fairy to suffer the same consequences that all the other magical creatures in my house have to face. I wanted her to have a chance to prove herself, and get it right the first time.
My intentions were good, but the premise failed.
Tucked inside the small pocket of my (gasp!) yoga pants–which dub as nightly attire, because I’m super scandalous–was a shiny, gold, one dollar coin. It was my, “I’ll remember!” promise, kind of like Neville and the Rememberal.
Nine o’clock came and went, with nary a peep from the child. Figuring my tiny human had fallen asleep, I went and peeked on him. He was all sorts of bright-eyed and happy, laying in his bed. He looked over at me, and asked if I could “pet him.” I believe his exact words were, “Mommy, I’ve been waiting for you to finish your work so you can lay down and pet me. I need someone to pet my head, so I can fall asleep.”
I walked into his room, sat down on his bed, and started rubbing his head. Ten minutes later, I got what I believed to be a brilliant idea. The gold coin was in my pocket. The tooth was under his pillow. Do you see where I’m going with this? Two birds, one stone.
I realized that, with minimal effort, I could make the switch right then. It took some finagling, and the constant mental reminder to complete two tasks simultaneously, but I somehow managed to not only keep rubbing Tiny’s head, but move the tooth into my pocket, and the coin into its special pillow.
Tiny was sleepy enough that, having finished my task, I kissed his forehead, and moved out of the room. I was all sorts of Mommy victorious as I left. The Tooth Fairy completed her task; she didn’t forget. She didn’t have to tell the tale of why a tooth was still in its case when he awoke in the morning, or do a fast swap while making the claim, “Maybe you just need to look really hard for the coin.”
Sitting on my bed, I started doing work, riding on my tooth swap high.
“Mommy? Mommy! Something’s happened!”
“Go back to sleep, Baby. You’re okay.”
“But, Mommy! Come here! Come here! I tell you, something’s happened!”
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
Apparently, the dozing child was faking. He became the fully awake child, who not only realized that his tooth was missing from its spot in the special pillow, but who had found the gold coin in its stead. Not to mention, he realized all of this at night, while awake.
Now, I went all sorts of magical theory on my child, to the point where he excitedly told me he how he saw the glow of the Tooth Fairy’s wings, but, seriously, what a bad decision on the Tooth Fairy’s part.
Hey, Tooth Fairy: that was a craptastic decision you made.
Next time, get it right.