Confessions of a Failed Tooth Fairy

When Ainsley lost her first tooth, I wrote a blog post about it.

Freddie lost his first tooth about 2.5 weeks ago...but it seems much longer.  A lot has happened since then, but that's another post.



Yesterday, he lost his second tooth.  If you look at that picture above, you can see that other bottom tooth holding on for dear life.  That one's gone now too.

So today, I write a post about Freddie losing his first two teeth, and how Clif and I are possibly the worst tooth fairies ever, and how my sweet little Freddie is growing up so fast.  So here it goes...

Freddie's front two teeth had been so wiggly for so long.  He's not one to push things.  He barely touched them, for fear of the pain.  There were lots of questions "Does it hurt?  Will I get a new tooth?  Does it hurt?  Will it bleed?  Does it hurt?"

But just like most first lost tooth stories, it happened in the blink of an eye.  All that worry and wonder and curiosity and then just, pop...out it came, like nothing.

It was bed time.  As usual, Cohen and Freddie chose this time to really turn up the craziness.  So I was lying in their bed trying to get them to calm down, when I just had to walk away.  So there I stood, in the hall telling Clif something, my back to the boys' room.

I saw Clif's face first.  Wide eyes, slow grin.  I turned to see a crazy excitement and uncertainty in Freddie's eyes.  Then, of course, there was the blood smeared lips.

Then the annoyance of late bedtimes and overactive children drifted and the house was filled with laughter and "Yay Freddie!" and giggles and hugs and "Freddie!  You lost a tooth!"

When the story finally game out, after he got over the shock of it, after he laughed and high-fived and hugged back, then we found out that Cohen and his little left hook was the catalyst.

The boys were rough-housing...shocker.  And Freddie wanted to make this part very clear...UNINTENTIONALLY...Cohen punched his cheek while his face was pressed against a pillow.  And that gave just enough push on the tooth for it to pop from it's tiny socket.  Always protecting his little brother, that one.

Yesterday, Freddie and I were alone in the car heading from the grocery store to pick up Cohen.  He took a bite of his secret donut (don't tell Ainsley and Cohen!) and then out popped the second one.



Look at those crooked little grown up teeth coming in.  I think there will be braces all around for the White kiddos.

And just like that he's down two teeth.  Of course this wasn't the first tooth, so the tooth fairy failed miserably and I am sitting at work writing a note in swirly handwriting and red ink from a little imp named Shimmer who has ONE JOB and she can't get it right!!



I've said it before, and I'll say it again...pretty sure our tooth fairy is drunk in a ditch most nights, because who makes excuses like "I don't fly well in the rain?"

Shimmer is the worst.  She's written lots of apology letters like this to Ainsley too.  And we've learned that she doesn't get to teeth lost after 4pm until the next day, that she doesn't expect teeth to come out less than a month apart, that her magic is spotty and doesn't work on certain days of the year, that she has enough teeth for her current castle that she's building, and that she doesn't work on holidays...days before holidays...or days after holidays.  That girl has a sweet benefit package.

I get so excited for them when things like this happen.  When they take that next step to being grown.  But then it makes me a bit sad.  Right now, you can't even tell that Freddie has lost any teeth unless he shows you.  But I know that lost baby teeth, means those giant grown up teeth come in right behind them.  And that baby smile turns into a kid smile.  And those chubby cheeks slide away and reveal cheekbones.  And those big bellies slim to reveal ribs and ab muscles.  And those silly words like "hopsital" and "shase" and "elligator" are corrected and become "hospital" and "chase" and "elevator."  So I try to write it all down right here, so I'll never forget.  So I'll always remember that sweet, gruff, Boston accent he had.  That little big voice that was so deep and manly, but still soft and childlike.  My Freddie will grow into an amazing man - sensitive and sweet and caring.  But I always want to remember the beautiful boy he started out as.

My Little Box

I heard the squeals and laughter and looked up to see Ainsley running towards me.

"Mommy, it fell out! It fell out!" she exclaimed.

She bounced in front of me with a big grin on her face.  A grin that now included one less tooth.  Clif helped her rinse her mouth of the blood and she placed the tiny, little chip in my hand.  Then she headed back on the field to finish soccer practice.

I watched as she smiled and pushed her tongue through the empty space, over and over again.  This day has been a long one coming.  She is the last of her friends, classmates, neighbors, teammates to lose a tooth.  She'll be 7 in a little over a month, and she's been searching for any sign of a loose tooth since the first week of Kindergarten.  Most kids her age already have big adult chompers pushing through their little mouths.

I held the tooth in my hand.  It was so small.  It didn't look that small in her mouth.  I searched my inside purse pocket for any holes, so sure I would lose this lost tooth.

We placed it under her pillow that night and the next morning she awoke $5 richer.  I told her that the first tooth is special, so the tooth fairy brings the first tooth back to the mommies and daddies so they can hold on to it forever.

Kind of weird, right?  To keep a tooth.  Just like keeping those first little curls that were cut off her head.    Sometimes I open the little box her blond curls are in and I feel them between my fingers.  Remembering her as a bald, toothless baby.  That silky hair doesn't feel the same any more.  It feels more like my hair.  Like grown up hair.  Now she uses conditioner and brushes it herself.  Her first tooth sits in a plastic baggie on my nightstand because it hasn't made it's way to the box yet.  I stare at it every morning while I put on lotion.  And I always think it's strange that I keep these things.  These are essentially dead  human cells, parts of a body, that I plan on stowing away forever.

But then I remember.  I remember sitting in the back seat of Clif's car with her.  We are leaving Nanny and Poppa's after a weekend visit.  I rub my finger along her gums and feel that roughness.  For the first time her gums are not pudgy and smooth and pink.  This one little spot is hard and rough and white.  That first little tooth has pushed itself through.  And now that tooth sits for me to stare at every day. 

And I remember...waiting for hair.  Waiting so long for hair.  I remember the first time I saw a curl at the back of her head as I rocked her one night.  I remember getting ready for a Memorial Day party at my friend Tara's house and deciding that maybe we could pull off pigtails.  Little, itty, bitty pig tails that really did curl like a pig's tail.  And now those first little hairs that sprouted from that big shiny head, sit in a box surrounded by velvet, so I can run my fingers over them.

So yes, it's weird.  So extremely weird...but necessary.  Because one day, her mouth will have expelled all those little teeth, and she will have a beautiful smile filled with big grown up teeth.  And one day, her hair may not be so blond.  Maybe it will grown long and straight, maybe she'll keep it short and stylish.  Little toes with jagged nails will become pedicured.  Little knees with scrapes and bruises will be shaved and lotioned.  Little hands with pudge and marker streaks will become long and lean.  All these little things of her babyhood and childhood will be gone, erased from her face and her mouth and her head.  But they'll stay in my heart and in my little box.