Someone needs to explain to me why baby teeth always seem to fall out in pairs.
The bathtub incident of earlier in the week did not signal an end to loose teeth – no, that tooth’s opposite number has been wiggling around in Harry’s mouth for months. MONTHS. So long in fact the adult tooth grew in behind it. When he had his annual dental checkup in August I assumed he would need the baby tooth pulled, but apparently the dentist said no – I was relieved but also kind of concerned. But it was already loose, so I figured it would fall out on its own.
Fast-forward to Sunday. Harry was kind of subdued all day. He went to Molly’s birthday party in the afternoon and came home white as a sheet, with dark circles under his eyes. “My loose tooth hurts SO MUCH!” he complained. “I just want it gone!”
So Michael took a peek, and yes, the tooth was very loose. The gum around it was enflamed and swollen-looking, and it was clear that it had to come out.
This is where my dear husband gets ALL THE PROPS, because I have a real thing about teeth, and pulling them is just not something I’m going to do, ever. He got a Kleenex and went to work.
Half an hour, several Kleenex, two paper towels, pliers (yes really), dental floss, and string later, the damn tooth was finally out. It had a pretty long root for a baby tooth, and poor Harry was a bit of a mess by the time it was lying in his hand. “I’d better get extra money from the Tooth Fairy for this one!” he declared, angrily. “Why do we have to lose our baby teeth, anyway? I HATE THIS.”
Me too, buddy. I can handle a lot of things, but gently holding his head steady while his father performed amateur dental surgery is not something I ever want to do again. Except, of course, that I have two other children, and so there will be dozens of teeth coming out in this house over the next few years.
I wish there really was a tooth fairy. I feel like she owes me a little something, too.