Tonight the big one has gone to bed with a note under her pillow, which reads:
To the tooth fairy,
My tooth came out and I swallowed it. I was very brave. I hope it’s ok.
Phew. What a drama. I hate teeth, especially wobbly ones. They make me feel sick and the last thing I needed to see at 5pm this evening was the inside of my daughter’s mouth, full of a mixture of spaghetti bolognaise and blood. Oh, and a little white tooth just hanging there, infront of half a big tooth.
Let me explain. The big one got her big teeth before her little ones vacated her mouth. Its all been rather confusing but at last, a baby tooth has fallen. And been swallowed. And raised a whole host of questions…
What will happen to the tooth?
Will I still get some money?
Will the tooth fairy check all the poo, or just mine?
That poor tooth fairy. How many nights does she spend, sifting through poo looking for little pearly whites, only to have to give up a few quid for the privilege? What kind of a gig is that? And apparently, the going rate is £5 for the first tooth and in my need to cook dinner/ hate teeth falling out/ baby is climbing out of his seat I hastily congratulated the big one on being so brave and promised to match the tooth fairy’s rates penny for penny. What? I got 20p for all my teeth…
It’s a momentous occasion. The big one has seen the baby cutting his teeth and has been poring over her baby book and memorising the date of her first tooth. She has seen her friend lose teeth and sport cute gaps and her teeth have stayed resolutely in her mouth. Until now.
I’m really grown up now, aren’t I?
Yes. And the tooth fairy will check your poo- only yours though- and she will leave you £5 (grr!) and then we can all move on.
What a day.