Tuesday, September 14, 2010


My oldest has lost his first tooth.
And his second one is quickly following.
And I'm not ready.
Bug was so cavalier about it. He was simply eating breakfast and smiled at me and I started screaming.
"Where is your tooth?"
Yes, I am a quiet rocket scientist first thing in the morning. Duh!
"It fell out."
"Last night."
"WHERE IS IT?" Cats in heat are quieter than I was as my voice became increasingly shrill.
"I dunno. On the floor. Daddy probably swept it up."
Knowing my husband had been asleep and hadn't OCD cleaned since early the pervious day, I yelled, "HE HASN'T SWEPT! FIND IT!"
And about 30 seconds later he dropped a baby tooth in my hand.
A tooth I had watched him grown only five and a hald years before. A tooth that was in every smiling picture I have of my son.
I was holding the Holy Grail.
And now I was going to have to be the blasted Tooth Fairy.
So we talked about Tooth Fairy protocol and how excited daddy would be. And I sent him off to school still grinning stupidly because my son's tooth had fallen out.
Not because he'd done anything stellar.
He'd lost a tooth.
My son, who freaks about germs and dirt, had failed to respond to losing a body part.
It seems like only yesterday I was so excited about that tooth popping through his baby gums, and now I can hold it in my hand and see the adult tooth shining through.
My baby is growing up, and he's got a gorgous toothless grin to show for it.

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