After the past couple of months of Bug complaining that he was The Only One (!) who still had all his baby teeth, and envying the empty pink gums of all his friends, he has a loose tooth.
(“Finally!” he said. And then he said, “So how many bucks will I get?”)
In addition to that tiny white Chiclet doing a little jig in his mouth, the bumpy white ridge of his permanent tooth is starting to break through, too. Whoa, hold it. Back this money train up.
His permanent tooth? Already? Aren’t I supposed to get used to his gummy grin first? (After extensive research via Googling “Permanent Teeth Behind Baby Teeth” and a quick call to his dentist, I have been reassured that no immediate action is necessary before his routine cleaning in just two weeks. And the irresistible wobble every now and then will only help things along.)
But wait, what is this, this trickery?
I’m a big enough person to admit wholeheartedly that I teared up as I peered into his little mouth, rimmed with a milk mustache and smelling of Toaster Strudels. And instead of thinking how the Tooth Fairy’s payout fees are rising, or hoping he doesn’t accidentally swallow his first baby tooth, or even resisting the tempting wiggle or two myself, I could only stare at that subtle bridge of new tooth and mourn the hint of the man he will one day become.
Seriously. I have got to get this under control.