Mithing: one tooth

For more than a year, Lil E and I have been having a conversation about when in the world the baby teeth were going to fall out of his head. His dentist smiled sweetly and whispered that it'd be at least another six months to a year, and that was long after his friends were spitting out of the gaping holes framed by gums and more wiggly whites.

"Just think!" I said like I was waving pom pons and doing high kicks. "Everyone is going to be SO BORED of losing teeth and you will be waiting patiently until...PA-DOW! You lose a bunch and remind them how incredibly awesome it is! Their tooth fairy money will be long spent but you will have yours. It's going to be great."

He bought it. Sort of. Or at least until this fall when kids in his class were losing teeth as fast as Nickelodeon re-runs today's episode of "iCarly."

He got a little anxious, maybe even whiny. I just repeated my cheer about tooth fairy touchdowns made in the final seconds of the game -- much more exciting than a slow and steady game.

I wasn't sure how much longer I could make that work, could distract the sad, toothy face he made by asking about what his friends' tooth fairies were leaving under the pillow.

And then, by the grace of crisp two-dollar bills and feathered hairbands tucked where the teeth once were, one day his teeth were no longer rooted firmly to his brain stem.

He tried not to get too excited, but his lips curled up at the edges as he showed me the miniscule amount of wiggling he could achieve by putting his whole fist in his mouth. We squealed. We plotted. We planned. We danced around.

Weeks later, the teeth were somehow still holding on but we were hopeful. His six-month check-up approached and we knew the dentist would be able to pinpoint the exact time those teeth would finally...FINALLY!...be free. By the time the appointment arrived, one was hanging by the thread that makes parents shudder to see and kids ecstatic to play with constantly. He sat back in the chair, barely able to contain his excitement, and she asked if he'd like her to pluck it out.

"NO!" he said immediately. "It can just come out."

He'd waited that long for nature to take work it's tusky tricks. He could wait a few minutes more. We were convinced it was going to come out that evening, even if we (not the doc) had to nudge it along.

That the one tooth would come out immediately wasn't the only thing the dentist confirmed. The timeline on the other wiggly one was short, too. And one of his giant upper chompers, which was making it's way strangely upward into his gum, was fusing itself to the bone and would need to come out soon, too.

Again, I spun it.

"So lucky!" we cheered as I explained that two were going to fall out forthwith and another just needed to be blooped out by the dentist. No biggie. "From no teeth out to three! Maybe in a week! PA-DOW!"

(A word to the wise: PA-DOW and other such sound effects work wonders in these types of kid situations that have potential for the runny-nose kinds of cries that are only resolved with ice cream and unrealistic promises. Trust me.)

That night, Lil E took his Justin Bieber singing toothbrush to the baby-baby-baby teeth with a fierceness. No luck. He ate an apple. And then another apple. Then a third. Nothing. He wiggled and yanked and prodded it around with his little pink tongue. Nope.

Finally, I told him it was time to consider a dental-floss extraction. His eyes got huge and he burst into tears. I felt like a horrible mother, detailing what happened when my own mother tied up my baby teeth to the basement door. The slam of the door, accompanied by the ringing of "hippie bells" (as she calls them) still makes me cringe every time someone emerges from the basement at my parents' house.

I tried to be honest but balanced.

"It's nerve-wracking just before it comes out. But it doesn't hurt. I promise." I hoped I was remembering correctly. And then I dropped the bomb. "I don't want it to fall out in your sleep or for you to swallow it, so that's why I think the floss method is a good choice."

That's all he needed to hear. He's Captain Safety, yes. But there was also no way in the world he'd let this momentous first lost tooth escape him while he was sleeping.

"Let's do it," he said bravely.

I rigged up the floss to our front door -- one that I thought was heavy enough to get some good momentum when I slammed it shut -- and slipped a loop over his barely connected bottom tooth.

We both tensed up. I counted.

"Onnnnnnne....twooooo...." and then SLAM!, not waiting for three. The door closed fiercely. The floss flew out. We both screamed.But not the tooth. The tooth was still in tact.

The little loop, slippery with kid-mouth-stuff lay at my feet, all alone.

I picked it up, attached it again, gave it a second go. SLAM! SCREAM! SLIP! That little fang escaped the floss again.

I apologized profusely, went at it a third time. SLAM! SCREAM! SLIP! It wasn't a charm. But in the flurry of flailing floss and echo of the big wooden door and emotion of it all, I reached up without thinking and yanked as the string swept by. The timing was perfect and the baby tooth flew out past me and somehow landed right where the floss once laid, at my feet.

I was shocked at my swift reaction, even more surprised the tooth was finally freed. But nothing I was feeling matched the wonder-excitement-astonishment all over Lil E's now-emptier smile.

His mouth was perfectly agape and blood pooled up a bit on his lip. He looked down to see the tooth on the floor, far from his head, and the tiny curl of a smile crept up his dimpled cheeks.

"HA! HA! It'th out! I can't believe it'th out!" he let out.

I scooped up the tooth and placed it gingerly in his small, cupped hand. We raced to the bathroom to see his new smile in the big mirror.

There it was, kind of gross and bloody and looking a little war-torn after all that work to release the pearl.

"Doeth every kid have their own tooth fairy?" he asked a few minutes later as we cuddled up, the tooth packed into a tiny green silk earring case I found in my jewelry box and a little whistle of air spitting out from the front as Lil E talked.

"I think so. I don't think one little fairy could handle all those kids and all their teeth Santa-style. I think there are many tooth fairies who are assigned to certain kids."

He nodded, then shot out of bed as fast as that spitty floss did, ran to his desk and grabbed a blue Post-It note and pencil. He came back a few moments later with a note, carefully penned in small, neat print to tuck in next to his tooth.

 

 "We'll see," I said, smiling.

"We'll thee," he smiled back. And then a whisper, extra whistley. "I'm just tho exthited, Mommy!"

"I know, baby," I whispered back, squeezing him tight in the dark. "I do know."

 

 

 

Comments

[Bradley Bedell]

That's okay, it will grow naturally. Each tooth fairy is assigned to a kid. Trusting the dentist is the best thing a guardian can do for his/her child's teeth.

[Phenom]

My son got a personalized tooth fairy piggy bank that also saves all of his teeth as a gift this year. It is really cute. But I can't figure out how to keep the tooth fairy "alive" while also keeping the teeth. Should we write a note to the tooth fairy when he looses teeth asking if we can please keep it? The bank looks like this: http://www.neatstuffgifts.com/personalized-tooth-fairy-piggy-bank-baby-blue.asp

[Joel Jackson]

What's with PA-DOW!? It reminded me of those classic comics I used to read when I was young which has text effects like TADUNG! TADUNG! PATING! PATING! LOL. Anyhow, how's his tooth now? Is it growing? It would be great if you visit his dentist regularly so you could monitor his teeth health.

[Calandra Janocha]

I'm amazed that Lil E was cool with losing his baby teeth. My son gets instantly squeamish when he feels a tooth wiggle. Isn't the 'tooth fairy phase' the cutest childhood memory?