My oldest has had a loose tooth for a few months.
She’s been very worked up about this,
despite coaching from one of her neighborhood friends and
assurances from her parents
(both of whom are over 30) that she’ll survive.
Last night the tooth fell out.
Our daughter was picking through dinner for the soft foods, intermittently
checking that her tooth was still wobbly. Dessert was chocolate covered
pretzels. Since it was
so warm (78°F) yesterday, I popped them in the freezer.
The appeal of two kinds of chocolate overcame any fear factor she had. After
meticulously stripping all the chocolate from the surface, she bit into the
the tooth fell out. I was watching her facial expression the moment it happened:
trepidation at eating something “hard, but not-healthy;” initial fright at the unexpected; tearing up as the realization that it was her tooth; then elation that it wasn’t so bad (her old man was right). She chomped on a cold wash cloth until the bleeding subsided, then called both sets of grandparents.
After bath, she put the tooth in an envelope and wrote a letter to the tooth fairy
advising her of an upcoming birthday party, which coincidentally has
“fairies” as a theme.
The tooth fairy was hoping my daughter would be worn out by the excitement
and go to bed at a decent hour. However, as is typical these days, my daughter
was up late reading. TF is a bit groggy blogging this morning, but promises to
leave some fairy dust (glitter) and a note back next time.
An informal survey of the neighborhood suggests the going rate for a tooth