I started this post on March 3rd. Something distracted me 3/4 of the way through writing it - the dishes, or a kid needing a hug or some water, most likely some shiny soft-core squirrels on the internet. Rule 34 is the best rule since, like, gravity n' stuff. Anyway, as of March 3rd, my daughter didn't have so much as one wiggly tooth. She is seven and a half.
And I was completely freaking out.
She was 14 or 15 months or something when she got her first tooth (I can't remember, she was my third kid, shut up). Her fake grandfather is a dentist and even he started looking at her a little funny after her 1st birthday passed and there were no teeth to be seen in her little face. I was grateful because she was still nursing, but also a little bitter because I had decided to stop nursing her when her teeth came in, which should have been at, oh, 6 or 7 months, 5 3/4 if you're my first born, but OH NO. She and her teeth are INSANE CLOWN LACTIVISTS. They decided that if I was intent on robbing her of precious breast-time, they were intent on having a bit of fun with me. They scoffed at my arbitrary time line for weanage* and showed me who was really in control of my boobies after all.
*Wheezin' aside: If you didn't read that like Pauly Shore said it, I just don't even know you anymore.
I heard somewhere that kids lose their teeth in timeline consistent with their acquisition of teeth (you like how I went from Encino Man to Nobel Laureate just like that? That's called CAFFIENE), and it's run pretty true for me. My oldest sprung his first tooth at 5 3/4 months, and lost his first tooth at 5 years, 9 months. My middle son was the same way - 6 1/2 months saw his first tooth, 6 1/2 years saw his first visit from the tooth fairy.
At this rate, my daughter was on track to have her first wiggly tooth during homecoming, which is totally preferable to every and any other first she could have at homecoming.
Of course, she is totally fine with this. She is old enough to be completely wigged out at the thought of her teeth, who she's spent so many years bonding with, falling out of her face. She is convinced it will be a gory, bloody painfest. Her teeth are so firmly lodged in her head, she cannot imagine life without them.
And then the draft stopped, I found a lot of reasons to be hungry and/or hate myself on Pinterest, and the next morning I woke up to a child with, you guessed it, a wiggly tooth. It's like her mouth and my blog are psychically connected or something. I JUST BLEW MY OWN MIND.
The past seven weeks have been interesting, to say the least. My daughter suffers from some moderate to colorful anxiety issues, and it turns out teeth coming out of her face land more on the THEBRITISHARECOMINGTHEBRITISHARECOMING end of her anxiety spectrum. She had herself convinced losing her tooth would hurt worse than birthing a child, and so on top of dealing with a 7 1/2 year old child with a loose tooth and an anxiety disorder, I had to deal with explaining the miracle of birth that was most likely also going to plague her poor, fragile, terror-riden body someday.
Good times, my friends. Good times.
And then yesterday she came home from school, walked in the door, and in her Very Brady voice said, "Hey there, groovy chic. I have something to tell you" *70's cool side-snap.