Tuesday, November 27, 2012
So, losing teeth.
I considered this a milestone, a very big deal, physical evidence of the transition from young, small, dependent child to less young, bigger, and ever-more independent child. It also happens around age 7, which, for many kids, is kind of a big one existentially. The little one loses the tooth, the mama keeps the tooth, and the next day makes for goofy, silly smiles, lisps, and maybe some sighs of my-baby's-growing-up.
But alas, Woody feels differently.
He lost his first tooth at the LSU-Arkansas game on Saturday with Daddy Honey, Uncle John, Beth, and cousin Caleb. He doesn't really know what happened to it. Maybe something about a hot dog. Popcorn, perhaps? He just noticed there was a hole there, he said. He said nothing of it until I noticed it hours later. I assured him that the tooth fairy came even though there was no tooth. Daddy Honey confirmed this before bed, to lay any worry to rest. Woody waved us off and said, "I don't really care about the money that much."
I was at a loss. Then, I shrugged acceptance. Our kids are their own little people, huh?
This morning, we woke to find that the other bottom tooth had come out. Luckily (for me, who had the special little container for lost teeth picked out when Woody was born!), Daddy Honey found the 2nd lost tooth in the sheets.
"Great!" said Woody. "Now I can go back to chewing on both sides of my mouth because I don't have to worry about a wiggly tooth!"
I'll sigh my sighs to myself, confident that the evidence of growing up is all around me and truly, requires no biological memento as proof.