He lost his tooth today. There he was sitting in my favorite super hero pajama that he still sometimes wears even though the pants don’t even reach his ankles anymore and his shirt doesn’t cover his belly. One second he was dipping his pancake in syrup (he’s a dipper- don’t judge), and the next he was saying “my sharp tooth fell out”.
My baby lost his tooth today. Just typing that sent me down a rabbit hole of emotions. Each day is filled with monotonous tasks, redundant arguments over homework or bed time. Motherhood is such a bloody battle between wanting to freeze time and wanting to put them to bed. Then something small, like when your baby, your last baby, loses his tooth. You realize that somewhere between wrestling them into pajamas, driving them to soccer practice, helping glue a school project they are all growing up. The growth is so subtle, so tiny, that if you blink you will miss it- but it’s there.
It felt like a small stab to my gut. That tooth was just a little bit of my baby falling out, and being replaced by a permanent big boy tooth. He is slowly but surely getting bigger.
Would you judge me for keeping this tooth hidden away deep in my jewelery box? Forever? Creepy?
Are these the little moments that prepare you to let them go for real down the line?