Almost 2 years ago exactly, I wrote down this conversation:
Sitting at the kitchen table:
Tizzy: If I'm really going to be a kid, these baby teeth have got to go.
Me: Be patient, they'll fall out in time.
Tizzy: I need them gone, now. (rubbing finger back and forth in front of
mouth...) I think I'll saw them out.
Me: Mmm, not sure that's such a good idea.
Tizzy: Well, it's not working.
It was followed by a lot of conversations about exactly how old Tizzy would be before he lost his teeth. He needed them out to feellike a big kid. I told him he'd probably have to wait until he was six.
A week and a half ago, he ran into my room at seven in the morning to announce his tooth was loose. After I shook the sleep out of my eyes, I inspected his mouth and sure enough, there it was, his first loose tooth. I felt immensely excited for him and my stomach dropped all at the same time, as this really did signify to me that he was growing up. He's been biting into apples, telling me it's time to tie his tooth to a door knob, and wiggling wildly all week. Finally this afternoon he came up to me and asked if it was hanging from a thread. I looked into his
mouth where his tooth was bent over sideways and I tried to stick my fingers in and yank it, but I go too squeamish. Instead I pulled my hand out, looked at him sheepishly and said, "Why don't you try pulling it out?"
"O.K." He said. And he did.
I'm so proud!
All afternoon he's been sticking his tongue through the space and demonstrating how he can spit milk through the gap.
Zips been following him around saying, "Tizzy, you want to see my tooth fall out when I'm six? I want my tooth to fall out right now!"
And so it all starts again once more.