Our baby lost her first baby tooth. She’s over the moon about it. She’s been waiting for months, wiggling her loose tooth with her finger by the hour, asking “When’s it going to come out?” We’re usually slow to respond, in part because there’s no clear answer, in part because we’re tired of addressing the same question 65 times a day. But mostly we don’t respond because it’s so gross.
What kind of sick sense of humor must God have to give us a perfectly fine set of teeth, only to have them slowly wobble out of our mouths?
This is how much losing her tooth meant to her. When we learned later that day that her classmate’s mother had given birth, our daughter exclaimed: “We both have such exciting news to share. My friend got a new baby and I lost my tooth!”
From the eyes of a child, I can see how these two seem equally significant. And in a way, growing and losing baby teeth takes way more than nine months. Our daughter’s wait has been even longer than that. She’s wanted this so badly for nearly two years.
This past Thanksgiving, we visited family in Texas, and her older sister had a gross, wiggly tooth of her own. It was hanging by a thread, and her cousin accidentally bumped her face, knocking the tooth free. It was slightly bloody, and although our older daughter was pain-free and care-free, my younger daughter started bawling.
I assumed she was worried about her older sister. She’s an empath and really hates to see people get hurt. But when we took her aside, we learned that it was something else. Through her tears, she asked, “When am I going to lose a tooth?”
I’m a second child myself, so I get where she’s coming from. It’s hard to watch the people around us reach milestones, wondering if and when our turn will come. It’s even harder when those people are close to you, day in and day out.
That day, we consoled her, and let her grandparents spoil her with tooth fairy money. When our girls asked us the next morning, we shrugged our shoulders, saying that the Texas Tooth Fairy must give to siblings, too.
A few months later, we the kids’ visited the dentist, and our younger daughter asked point-blank: “Is this the year I finally lose a tooth?”
The dentist checked her teeth and noted two were slightly loose. We’ve talked about it pretty much every day since. Then, in March, my older one lost another tooth. We were in Japan at the time, and they both woke up with some yen and dollar bills under their pillows. Japanese tooth fairy rules, I guess.
This past week, I was in North Carolina, and I got a FaceTime call from my wife. I answered it to see our baby girl sobbing. My heart skipped a beat, and then my wife explained: “Big news Dad! The tooth fell out!”
Our daughter was eating dinner, and her tooth came out with a bite. It was a bit painful and a bit bloody, which explained her tears. But she smiled through them, because she was excited too. It’s funny seeing those emotions mix together, hurt and joy. Maybe they’re not mutually exclusive.
She was so excited, asking if she could keep her tooth instead of giving it to the tooth fairy. My wife and I exchanged disgusted looks. Who wants human bones in their house? We suggested that the Tooth Fairy’s feeling might be hurt if we didn’t donate the tooth, and besides, where would we keep it? She acquiesced, thank God.
That night, after we put the girls to bed, Gunisha and I talked about how excited we were for our baby girl, and at the same time, how sad we were; how our sadness felt almost disproportionate to our daughter’s excitement; how we couldn’t believe that our baby had lost her first baby tooth.
We all have our own milestones, and while life goes on through them, they can mean different complicated things to each of us. My wife and I were excited for her, and at the same time, entered a strange kind of mourning, reminded that time doesn’t stand still and that our babies won’t stay babies forever.
I guess we all have these conflicting feelings inside of us, joy and hurt, celebration and mourning, gratitude and sadness. I take some solace in knowing that they can co-exist. I’m also aware that there are many of us who wish we could freeze time, or even go back to a different moment of our lives. The future feels bleak, or at least uncertain, and wouldn’t it be nice to just hold our babies forever?
But I guess the uncertainty is part of the beauty, too. Maybe life is a mouthful of baby teeth: a series of unpredictable twists and turn, the only predictable feature being change. And as we undergo that change; as different aspects of our lives wiggle and wobble and even fall out, we can hold on to hope that something bigger and bolder and more beautiful will grow in its place.
Our second and third are only two years apart. Remarkably our second lost all his baby teeth before our third lost her first baby tooth. You could see how envious she was for years, and how much she’s gloating now that she’s the only one getting new teeth. It’s amazing to watch.
Thank you for sharing this - it made my morning and made me reflect on my own childhood. I was terrified of losing teeth when I was little (to the extent that my parents once had to pin me down and yank out my wiggly tooth because I was in such hysterics), and I insisted on keeping my lost baby teeth (ick!). It's funny to me now how horrible the losing-teeth period was for me (and my parents - I certainly ensured that!), and how insignificant it seems now. It's a good reflection for me today while in the midst of a breakup. Two lessons I learned from this: something that is miserable for me could be exciting for someone else, and everything is temporary. There is a lot of sadness in that, but a lot of freedom too - I was certainly better off once I lost that last baby tooth! I'm going to keep hoping the same is true for other things as well. <3