My son Big C lost his 1st tooth yesterday. Weeks of light wiggling led to weeks of heavier movement, and finally last week it grew so loose that both of his grandfathers threatened to tie a string around it and yank away. But yesterday he did it all himself. My little man reached in and pulled out his 1st tooth.
I have the world’s worst memory. I don’t recall my 1st lost tooth or what the tooth fairy left under my pillow. But now I get to relive it through my son. I watched as he tentatively twisted the tooth in his mouth and then stared in wonder as he turned it over in his hand, inspecting it like it was a precious gem.
I hate that his daddy is missing this. The excitement and joy on Big C’s face as he insisted upon calling both sets of grandparents to share the news. The delicate placing of the tooth under his pillow and his difficulty falling asleep because he wanted to see if the tooth fairy is a boy or a girl. The shoving of the $5 bill from the tooth fairy in my face at 5:39 this morning. The 7 AM trip to Wal-Mart to spend his treasure. His daddy would have loved it all.
I know that between 2 children and their 2 mouths full of baby teeth, the tooth fairy will be making many more visits to our house. I just wish my husband had been here for the 1st one. Occasions like these make me miss him even more.