That was what I told my 6-year-old daughter the other evening when I put her to bed: I hope your teeth fall out. Out loud. In her face. Really meaning it.
Sounds bad, I know.
But no, I was not being mean. And no, I was not chiding her either. Hell NO! I did not say it in a harsh tone or wish for anything bad to befall on her. No mother would.
Instead, I said it gently. I cupped her face softly, pouting as I said it. It sounded bad enough and I was almost feeling bad that I had to say it at all. But I needed to tell her that I felt her grief.
After all, Spud got three loose teeth for more than 2 months now. And every other day, she would complain about how they wibble and wobble and not one of those teeth are loose enough to come off. They just sit there juggling like a flimsy fence on her gum.
Over the last few months, she’s been tolerating the wibble-wobble of her two front teeth and her lower incisor. The sometimes, she forgets that those pearlies are loose and would cause her the occasional pain when she enthusiastically bites off something hard.
We know how that felt like, right? Not the most comfortable feeling in the world!
In fact, I still have remnants of memories during that entire losing of teeth stage. I never liked it and I remember that each tooth loosened till they fell off was the most royal pain in the ass.
Of course, Spud would not hear of us nudging the following solutions:
- tying a string to one tooth, attach it to the door, let her stand still and we’ll slam the door away or…
- using a pair of pliers to pull her tooth away one by one; they all are already loose anyway or…
- giving her an apple to bite on and only using her two front teeth …
Short of the 3 options laid out to her as above (insert evil laugh) which was met with a complete meltdown of “no-s” (insert a sheepish giggle), we told her that unfortunately, she just has to ride it out. For every single tooth. For the next few years.
Bummer, I know.
So feeling completely helpless as Spud was whiny-er about her teeth than most days, me telling her “I hope your teeth fall out” in the most empathetic tone possible before she went to bed, had seemed more than reasonable. You know, a mother’s prayer.
Not 10 minutes after tucking her into bed, I heard her screaming out for me from her bedroom. The problem was, I couldn’t move. I was in the midst of separating egg whites from the yolks at that time and I was stuck. With all the whites dripping all over my bare hands and me being extremely cautious not to break the yolks, I could not just abandon everything haphazardly to get to her.
Knowing it was nothing dire and that she was at least not screaming bloody murder, I took my time with the whites I was handling.
Meantime, I called out for Silver Bullet several times LOUDLY, who at that time was sitting on the couch and technically nearer to the stairs to get to Spud’s room. Only after the 5th shout of his name did I then realised that he had his sound-proof earphones on. He was blissfully oblivious to the mayhem of music outside his earphones. Right.
Still separating egg whites, I told Spud at the top of my voice (just so she would hear me) to come down to me. She was in front of me in mere seconds; Silver Bullet almost jumped out in annoyance with why-the-hell-are-you-out-of-bed when she darted past him and with such speed, I could have sworn she flew down the stairs!
She was panicky and then told me about her lower incisor which was getting extremely loose. It was looking like she was about to go into a meltdown. With the 3rd white in my hand, I calmly told her to sit right across me. I then encouraged her to continue fiddling her tooth away and went on to reassure her that we’ll stay by her side till her tooth is out.
Imagine this: Me separating egg whites, apron on and all, with my eyes on her as nonchalant as fuck; Silver Bullet hovering over her and there she was, with some tears in her eyes, hand in her mouth..awkwardly trying to wriggle out her tooth. Her eyes looking worried as hell.
Then voila!
Just like that, the tooth came out. A tiny speck of blood.An easy wiggle. And then the look of relief. THAT look of relief when you finally manage to poo after hours of constipating.
Talk about a mother’s prayer!
She did not forget about the Tooth Fairy too. Her version of Tooth Fairy. Bless her.
This time, the Tooth Fairy was feeling kind enough to leave her a couple of Euros when she was fast asleep. There was a note too!
She still, however, chooses to remain doubtful on the existence of the Tooth Fairy and leaning towards the notion that this is just her mother being atrociously annoying funny. (insert evil, evil laugh)
Like her other wobbly teeth, she prefers to sit on the fence about this fairy thing. Santa included. And if all else fails, at least there is now a small proof that the most powerful of prayers would have to be that of a mother’s! The other front tooth just came out 2 days later.
Now. If only lottery works the same.
