The Day Baby Teeth Made Me Cry
Last week, I took E to the dentist.
It was traumatic.
For me, not for her.
Unlike a prior trip to the dentist, she didn’t run out of the waiting room into the hall while screeching like a wounded animal and then require 15 minutes of cajoling and bribery just to get her back into the office. [Side note #1: If we absolutely hadn’t needed to be there – she had to have a cavity filled – I probably would have caved and left. Call me weak.]
This time, she was fine. She sat right down in the chair, had her teeth cleaned, then picked out a new purple-and-green toothbrush and a few prizes out of the treasure chest. [Side note #2: Why don’t adults have a treasure chest at the dentist’s office? Maybe filled with mini-bar-sized bottles of wine? I cry bullshit.]
Anyway, everything was fine until the dentist, a sweet little grandfatherly type in bad-ass neon Nikes, asked, “Did you know she has a few loose teeth?”
“I’m sorry…what?” I asked.
“Loose teeth. These two bottom teeth are loose,” he said, poking at her two front bottom chompers with that miniature silver hooky thing. “Just a little. They’ll probably last through winter,” he explained nonchalantly.
Irrationally, stupidly, embarrassingly, I started to tear up.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, you crazy, crazy woman, I chided myself.
“Are you ok?” he asked, stopping, peering over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses.
“Um, yeah.” Compose yourself, you idiot. “I just wasn’t expecting to hear that…I mean, she’s only 4.”
“Yes, but she’ll be 5 in December. She’ll be on the early end of losing her first tooth – it can happen anywhere between 5 and 7,” he said, pausing again, staring. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
No, Dr. Dentist, I am not ok. She is my only child. And to me, her having baby teeth means that she’s still a baby. No more baby teeth = no more baby. Yes, I get that she’s going to be 5. Pretty soon she’ll be in college and asking for a car instead of Calico Critters.
As parents, there are so many “little big things” that pass us by. However, I usually steady myself for these types of transitional moments: There is, for instance, the last time I changed her diaper and the first time she used the potty. The first time she climbed up and went down the slide by herself, or swam in the pool without her “floatie.” The last time she used the high chair and then the booster seat. The last time she called Corduroy the Bear “Code-o-woah.” The last night she slept in her crib, then her toddler bed. These were all moments I had expected. Prepared for.
For this, I was not prepared.
As we left the dentist, she said she couldn’t wait to tell Daddy about her “loose teef.”
“Mama, when I loose my teefs, the Toof Fairy is going to leave gold under my pillow, right?”
Gold? Where did that come from? Who do I look like? Beyonce?
“Well, honey,” I explained, “maybe not gold, but yes, she’ll leave you a small gift for sure.”
“Oh, yay! I love the Toof Fairy!”
Yes, Honey Bear. She’ll leave you a gift. And, along with your toof, she’ll take with her another little piece of your Mama’s heart.
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