My daughter has a loose tooth. It’s her first one and that makes it a momentous event in our house.
It happened two nights ago while she was eating a pear. She came up to me complaining that every time she took a bite her tooth hurt. I checked it out and discovered the jiggley tooth. As soon as I informed her that her tooth was loose, she started bouncing and hopping around the room excitedly. She promptly called her grandma to tell her the news, and at the end of the conversation said that she was going to go the bathroom to wiggle her tooth some more. After she hung up she did just that, but not before she went up to the cat and dog, respectively, to show off the special event that was her loose tooth. This is so thrilling to her because she’s been anticipating it for so long. She’s watched her brother and, more recently her friend, lose several teeth. She’s been asking me, “When will it be MY turn?” And now her turn has come.
I’m very happy for her, and I’m grateful to witness such abandoned delight. It seems silly to be so happy over a loose tooth, but that’s what makes it even more beautifully heart wrenching. To see the pure joy in my child’s eyes over a seemingly simple event is as close a person can get to authentic emotion. I am savouring these moments because soon enough they will be lost to the culture of “cool” during those teenage years.
I’m seeing some of my friends go through disconnect with their teenagers, and I almost feel like we’re in a kind of count down mode. Four years, eleven months, and sixteen days until my son is thirteen and he no longer runs to me for hugs and snuggles. Five years, four months, and sixteen days until my daughter finds the mere idea of running around the room ecstatically over a loose tooth mortifyingly embarrassing. I can hope that it won’t happen with my teenagers. I will hope.