The day your bright eyed boy loses his first tooth is one of them.
{December 22, 2011}
On a sunny Thursday morning, just a few days before Christmas, this little 4-year old boy lost his first tooth. One of the front ones.
In what was not one of my finest parenting moments, emerged yet another of his bravest. He and Henry were running on -- well, playing or riding on -- the treadmill; I had just jumped off. I was feeling good, endorphins pulsing through my body and the Train station on Pandora blaring through the Sonos speaker. They were being cautious, I reasoned, and turned to the mess in the playroom to start cleaning it up. That's when I heard a thud and then his cry. I ran in and scooped him up from the floor, alternating comforting him and Henry who felt like the whole terrible accident was his mistake. I saw the blood and realized my sweet baby, barely 4 years old, lost his front tooth, and jammed the other -- the one beside it -- straight up into his gums.
He continued to be brave. His crying stopped after only minutes; long before mine. I cried empathetically along with him; I still can't imagine the pain of falling and knocking a tooth clean out and shoving another into my gums. I cried because I felt completely and totally to blame. And I cried because he is only four. Maybe not a baby, but still my youngest little boy. I wasn't ready for him to look like a first grader.
But you know after a day it didn't phase me. He is still the same sweet, daring (he fell off the back of the couch the same night as the treadmill accident - things don't phase this one) friendly, happy little boy. And his little tooth missing smile just makes him more uniquely who he is. I'm sure I will have a hard time parting with that little gap when his adult tooth comes in.
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