Wednesday, September 23, 2015

The one where she loses a tooth (in a pretty prominent location) ...

Last week Chach took a digger on one of the more routine obstacles at the park, caught herself, mostly, but came down on her front teeth. She cried a bit. Insisted on being carried halfway home from the park.

Chuck gave her a medicinal popsicle when they got home, which went well, until he heard something that he described as sounding like a Tic Tac drop on the kitchen floor. Then there was a gush of blood and that was that: She's down to one front tooth. And her baseball-style T-shirt now has a pretty memorable blood stain.

She still has the right one. It's more pronounced now, without its partner in crime, but it's a pronouncement befitting the double chew-duty it has been assigned. The left one, and it's massive root, are in a baggie on top of the refrigerator while we iron out the logistics of a conversation we hadn't planned on having with our daughter for years. The one about the Tooth Fairy. [One would think this would be easy. It's like Santa with wings monkeying with your pillow and leaving shiny circles while you sleep before he (she? I've lost track) flitters out the window. But Chacha has recently begun referring to the Easter Bunny as Bob The Easter Bunny, so we will just let it the Tooth Fairy business rest for a bit.]

If I've learned anything from reading Dooce, it's that when a kid has a dental sitch involving baby teeth, no one is going to do anything about it. Still, when your kid gushes blood from her face hole, the inclination is to go to Urgent Care.

So we did and, as expected, a very smug doctor looked at us like we had asked her to give our kid a head transplant (read: Throw away the old one! Start over!) and said:

"You know we can't do anything about this, right?"

And so I, equally smug, replied:

"Yes. And I'm sure we aren't the first parents to bring you a kid who knocked out her front tooth."

To which she answered in the affirmative.

It took a bit to get used to, it has increased her comic stylings, like, tenfold, and she can no longer say words that start with the letter S. But she's happy, despite the impolite gesture she keeps making with her tongue.

"All else is otherwise normal." -- Bob Easter Bunny