Teeth
It was later in the evening on an almost-snowy Thursday night. Leo had just gone to bed where he was beginning his current hour-long adventure of being thirsty, hungry, bathroom needing, snuggle wanting, book reading, bedroom gymnastic tumbling bedtime routine.
Elsie and I sat on the couch, and she sweetly smiled my direction. I commented that her tooth looked a little wiggly, at which point she ran to the bathroom and minutes later exploded back into the living room, tooth in hand.
Mom, I did it! I pulled out my tooth!
What a moment this is - the excitement and anticipation of the tooth fairy making an appearance now dominating the night. I held her baby tooth in the palm of my hand and in typical me fashion, I found myself in both an avalanche and tornado of emotion, as the memories of first teeth flooded back to me. Even though this is the seventh tooth she’s lost, every time it gets me.
I remember… I told Elsie.
I remember your toothless smile, ever so sunshiny and warm.
I remember when your baby teeth were first coming in.
I remember the sleepless nights and the struggles and I remember the frozen teething sticks and frozen waffles and the time spent scrolling Amazon for anything that would make it all easier. I remember the rosy cheeks you wore like a uniform of one cranky toddler and I remember the pain you had and how I wished I could take it all away.
I remember first teeth and second teeth and molars and I remember learning to brush those teeth and the apprehension and then success first dentist appointments.
I remember.
I remember it all.
And in this moment, baby tooth still in the palm of my hand I realize that we’re not just losing teeth, but we’re losing our baby and our toddler and we have the journey and the job of knowing this not-yet a teenager and no-longer a toddler person, who stands there - one tooth fewer in her smile - beaming with pride and excitement, about to tuck her tooth under her pillow and cozying up to a chapter-book while she awaits the childhood magic of the tooth fairy.
Of course I’ve known this and I feel it deeply as I watch Leo grow, he’s bid goodbye to his crib and his pack and play and about to give his diapers the boot. Every stage, I want to remember everything and I fear I don’t. I fear I don’t, but then I hold a baby tooth and it floods back to me - these memories I know are imprinted on my soul.
Is this the lesson here? We can firmly stand in this moment, savoring all of the I remembers while welcoming whatever it is that comes next. And whether it be growing baby teeth or schoolyard bullies or anything else the world throws our way, we’re in it together. My journey as their mom is my own, their journey as our kids is exclusively theirs and no matter the storm, we can batten down the hatches and see it through.
There’s always sunshine around the corner. I remember that too.