About two weeks ago, Big Brother discovered he had a wiggly tooth. The last of all his best buddies to lose a tooth, BB was thrilled to say the least and spent the better part of the next fourteen days with his finger in his mouth.
Wiggling, wiggling, wiggling…
I should preface the rest of this story by saying that the whole tooth-falling-out thing totally grosses me out. I used to have chronic nightmares about my own teeth falling out (yes, i know what the psychiatrists say about that) and as they spilled out into my palms I’d wake up soaked through my night-shirt. Despite the fact that I have no cavities, I get goosebumps and stomach knots during the simplest of dental cleanings. One of Big Brother’s friends was over last week and he had a tooth so loose that he could almost spin it around on the one surviving strand. I nearly lost my lunch and gagged audibly — which a couple of six-year olds found absolutely hilarious. ’Course.
So, when Big Brother decided to grab an apple from the fridge yesterday before school and took a big ole’ tooth-pulling bite? Out popped the tooth. Anticipating this moment days before, I expected to smile proudly, pat BB sweetly on the head, then try as hard as possible not to touch the little chicklet of a tooth. And then I’d, likely, bestow all fairy duties to the man of the house.
But, apparently, mommy moments are entirely unpredictable.
Because, out came that tooth and oh my goodness. The pride that Big Brother felt. Holding that little silly tooth. Smiling a brand new, big kid smile. Jumping around the kitchen in joy. Hugging me. Asking to call Dad.
So freakin’ proud. And excited and cute! And…
(oh my goodness, what in the world is that wet substance coming from my eyes?)
I recovered quickly and we got out the “Tooth Chest” (brilliant marketing ploy designed to save tooth fairies everywhere the agony of searching for a teeny white tooth under a humongous white pillow) and placed the tiny treasure inside.
Just before it was time to head out the door for school, I made the mistake of pulling out Big Brother’s baby book. I knew there was something about the first tooth to fill out and wanted to fill in the date before I forgot about it.
That’s when I realized.
The last of the firsts.
And so I cried. Again.
Who is this sentimental sap?
And, then, last night it was tooth fairy time (thank you Tooth Chest, for making it so easy). Big Brother went to bed with an enthusiasm only surpassed by Christmas Eve. After removing the tooth and replacing it with $6 (apparently, kids get their age for the first tooth nowadays), there I was. Chicklet tooth in hand.
To Husband: So, what do we do with it?
Husband: I don’t know. You probably don’t want to save it, do you? Did you save some hair from his first haircut?
Me: I did, yes. But…I have no idea where it is.
Husband: Well, that’s even grosser than the fact that you saved it in the first place.
Me (laughing): I know.
I pause by the trash can.
Me: I can’t throw it away. I just can’t.
Me: I’ve been weird and sentimental about this silly tooth all day. I just can’t explain it. But, somehow, I can’t throw it away.
So, I saved it.
Totally gross, isn’t it? I know.