As a parent, you learn to deal with gross things. Most of these things will, at one point or another, shoot out of one of your child’s orifices and result in tears and/or laundry. And for the most part, these gross things no longer seem so horrible.

But there’s always something. For me, it’s loose teeth. Loose teeth fah-reak me out.

There are two reasons for this.

First, when my brother had loose lower teeth, he would let them get so loose that they would flop over his lip when he smiled.  He would then chase me around the house, laughing while I hid. Second, when I was a kid, I had a loose molar. My mother, who is one tough lady,  decided to pull it. She yanked and yanked until it came out. When I went to rinse my mouth out, I noticed there was a lot of blood. Like, enough to make me take a closer look inside my mouth.

She’d pulled the wrong tooth. 

Thankfully, she’d pulled a baby tooth, but it was a baby tooth that hadn’t been loose before, so I had a vacant lot in my mouth for a looong time.

Anyway, Tyler has been freaking me out with his loose front teeth for weeks. This morning, at breakfast, he managed to punch himself in the mouth with a bagel, or something, because when I looked over at him his bagel was covered in blood and he was starting to cry. His gums were dripping blood, but he wouldn’t let me touch him, wouldn’t let me see his mouth, nothing. I did note that the tooth was hanging a good quarter-inch below its neighbors (HORRORS). He said he wanted to go to school, so I put him in the car.

The ride to school was brutal. Tyler refused to close his mouth, his gums were still bleeding, and he looked miserable and watery-eyed.

He hopped out of the car, still doing his best large-mouth bass impression, and trotted off to class.

Tyler called me at 10:30. The class had bagels for snack. Two bites and the tooth finally came out. He asked if I would come get it.

The tooth spent the rest of the day in a baggie in my purse.

Here’s my little snagglepuss:


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