Linking up again with Wife Of Awesome, DearBabyG, for my weekly whine.
Miss6 has had one lone wobbly tooth for at least a month. She has been obsessed with it. Every day she asks me, "When is it going to come out, Mummy?"
Every. Single. Day. FFS!?
My answers have included the following:
- Next month
- In a few days
- After Easter
- When I tell it to
- After you eat your broccoli
- Ask your father
None of which have adequately answered the question, because she keeps asking. At least once a day. FFS!?
Finally, it happened.
Monday night she was beside herself. The event which she had been waiting for suddenly scared the living crap out of her. She refused to believe that it would be okay, that there would not be a bloody gaping hole in her face forever, and that it was completely normal for teeth to fall out.
Sure, sure, better parents than I
so, pretty much everyone would've known the correct way to handle it, and probably have a Tooth Fairy related book to read to their child to make it all airy-fairy and happy again.
I did not.
What I had was a pair of sick twins, an ailing self, Not a Mini Van on its death bed and seriously threatening our Bali funds, an absent #1Hubby who was kicked back in a hotel room watching TV and eating room service (MOFO JUNKETS), and a shitload of work to do. FFS!?
So I sympathised for all of 20 seconds before telling her to man up, and referring to her beloved best buddy Aaliyah, who has miraculously survived the loss of her first couple of teeth without incident.
Patted myself on the back for such stellar parenting.
The following morning Miss6 came bursting into my room at the ungodly hour of 7am.
She's all dramatic tears and high pitched voice, holding a tissue to her mouth.
The tooth, it has left the building, so to speak.
I congratulate her, the twins yell a supportive and enthusiastic "BULLSHIT!" and I ask to see the tooth.
"IT'S GONE MUMMY!"
It fell out while she was asleep, and when she awoke it was gone.
Holy. Mother. Of. Vodka.
|I'M GOING IN|
I am envisaging sifting through her shit (sadly, not a metaphor) in order to find the tiny tooth that she has obviously swallowed in her sleep.
So that we can keep it in an album or a ceramic trinket box or something, never to be thought of or viewed again. FFS!?
Then I stress about what to do if she craps at school? The tooth will be gone forever. FFS!?
What didn't occur to me, is to write it off, forget about it, and just save the next tooth to fall out and call it the first one.
I was too preoccupied with shovelling shit (again, not a metaphor) to think logically.
Anyway long story slightly less long, I found the tooth. On the floor of her bedroom.
Thank the Vodka Gods for dodging that bullet. Shudder.
|One down, 19 to go|