The Fired Tooth Fairy

The tooth fairy was just offered a golden denture retirement package. She currently resides in Key West sipping frozen salted drinks and learning the words to every Jimmy Buffett song ever written, even the one about the mandolin. Her reason for quitting? Overwork.

My newly six year old daughter began losing her front first tooth about a week ago. At the announcement of the impending loss, I felt a surge of panic. She had been outside falling off her bike when her brother’s four year old head met her chin on the way down.

I know there are mothers out there with baby books where there is a drawing of the inside of a mouth with lines pointing to each tooth, and the date of emergence and date of departure have been dutifully marked. I am not one of them.

I racked my brain for the GPS of prior teeth she had lost without successful recall. Was this a baby tooth that had been loosened? All I knew for certain, was if I failed to get this checked, the tooth was a permanent one that could have been saved if only I had acted quickly. My motherhood neurotic tendencies run towards ruing the sins of omission.

We went to the dentist. My old dentist had moved to North Carolina that year, and as such the new one in the same office did not have records of my daughter’s mouth. So we took x-rays and I scheduled appointments for the top five for cleanings and check-ups. The receptionist nearly quit in the process. Meanwhile, my daughter played with the sink and enjoyed riding up and down in the chair. "I like the dentist." she said brightly. Relief came, it was a baby tooth. We just had to wait.

In the back of my head, a little nag that I often fail to listen to, suggested that a bit of preparation, maybe a visit to the bank or post office for some shiny coins might be prudent. Then it was time to fix dinner and I forgot all about such things. Meanwhile, my daughter worried that it would hurt, and gummed her food to allow her left central incisor to enjoy its final days of residence in relative leisure.

Six days later, my daughter came down the stairs early, bright eyed and announcing proudly her tooth had fallen out. She wanted everyone to see. We praised her bravery and placed the honored free ranging front tooth in a plastic bag. I put the bag over the microwave, a spot I would be sure to see in the evening and thus remember to put it under her pillow.

It was a rough day, full of long drawn out errands. My husband was overnight in another state for a business retreat. As such, I had collapsed on the sofa prematurely, visions of dental magical entities entirely out of my brain. My daughter had crashed early too, without so much as a bed time story.

When I woke her the next morning, she immediately checked under her pillow and began to sob. Desperation led to inspiration. I suggested she get washed up. I mentioned that I had fallen asleep on the couch WITH her tooth in the bag in my hand on the sofa. Perhaps we might find the tooth fairy’s gift under my pillow. My older daughter is very quick on the uptake and raced downstairs to check, assuring the six year old with uncharacteristic morning generosity that she could use the bathroom first that morning.

The sofa proved profitable for our kindergartener. Four shiny quarters in a baggie with a note. “Your mother left this under her pillow. She’s a bit old to be losing teeth. Love, T.F.” “Silly Mommy,” my gap tooth daughter grinned. “Yes,” my ten year old echoed, “Teeth are for kids.”

My substitute T.F. then later approached me privately about reimbursing her for the services with a slight gratuity for the trouble. I readily parted with an additional fifty cents and decided to subcontract out permanently.

Now, where’s my margarita?

*Originally run 4/11/2008 --as close as my kids are going to get to a scrapbook.  Run in honor of now six year old son who lost his first tooth yesterday while eating an apple.

Top Ten Things Never to Say to a Pregnant Woman

Nine pregnancies means I’ve just about heard everything…so as a public service announcement to all well wishers and curious strangers, I provide the following tips to avoid a faux pas in the presence of an expectant mother.

10. "Did you plan this?" If the answer is yes…so? If the answer is no…again…so?

9. "You’re so big! I bet you’re due any day now!" First, if you’ve never seen the woman before, you have no frame of reference for size. Second, unless you’re an obgyn, guessing how far along a woman is in her gestation is a dangerous prospect…if you think due today and she’s seven months, you risk having a large hot chocolate or diet coke jammed up a nostril. Any jury of women would think you got off lightly with only a warning in such a situation.

8. Discussing/dismissing prospective mother’s birth plan…and proposing own alternative –drugs/no drugs/ at home/induction…whatever the substitution/alteration…it’s not what the doctor and patient ordered. This is like going to a restaurant, up to your girlfriend’s table and telling the waitress…I know she ordered Caesar salad and the pasta with cream sauce but she really would like ice tea, some wedding soup and the chicken pesto bowtie pasta. Then telling the girlfriend, “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

7. You’re carrying high/low, sideways, it must be…boy/girl. This changes daily and even by the moment and is also dependent upon wardrobe choices for the day, and gender, well, I’ve taken to saying, “If I didn’t know, I’d say there’s a 50% chance you’re correct.” I’ve had total strangers assure me that the ultrasound was wrong based on their analysis of how my tummy was aligned at the moment. My moral compass forbids me from then asking them, “Want to bet?”

6. Are you going to have any more? Family size decisions involve only two people. ‘Nuff said.

5. Offering to or actually patting the belly before receiving clearance or after clearance has been denied. Big No No.

4. Are you sure there aren’t twins in there? Similar to number 7 and number 9, there is no way that this comment can be considered a compliment.

3. Relating delivery horror stories…72 hours, no epidural worked…husband stuck at job, broken car, had to be delivered by neighbor’s yard man…these bring no comfort to the awaiting pregnant lady. They are battle stories…that create or revive memories of labor that rival post traumatic stress syndrome.

2. Labor inducement tricks…eat olive/mushroom pizza at this restaurant…try jalepenoes in brownies…these things work as well as guess the baby by how she’s shaped. They also usually involve gross combinations that can make even the steeliest of stomachs ill.

1. "Haven’t had that baby yet? Stick a Fork in You, You’re done…" Trust me, the woman 38 weeks pregnant wants to be done…she’d love to be delivering…when she is, you won’t see her…she’ll be at the hospital unless the yardman had to take over because her husband’s stuck at work.

So…what do you say? "Congratulations, how wonderful! When are you due? How are you feeling? And Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?" Then, if the gestator wishes, who knows, she might even let you feel the baby kick.

Hopefully, this post will save grace, face, and keep all those women suffering through the summer gestating, from stuffing soda/straw up stranger's nose incident free. This has been a public service announcement. We now return you to your regularly scheduled humor blog content.