My daughter has earned herself a reputation for ripping loose teeth out of her head before the tooth is really ready to come out. More than once she has come to me after bedtime, dripping in blood, triumphantly holding a tooth between her fingers. Ugh!
This time around, she had a loose tooth that was giving her a lot of pain. In the course of the day, she would accidentally bite too hard, pinch her cheek or smack it with her tongue (?). All would leave her in pain.
I offered to pull it out, and to my surprise she resisted. My girl, who wrenches teeth with the slightest wiggle, was afraid I would hurt her. I told her that getting it out might hurt, but then it would be over. If she waited, she would continue to be in pain for days. She agreed.
So, I got to pull her tooth. I have pulled many teeth—most of my son’s, my nephew’s, friends’ kids. But never my girl’s, because she always beats me to the punch. Most people are squeamish about such things—which explains why I have pulled the teeth of friends’ kids. I really don’t mind doing it—it is better than watching a kid twirl the thing at the dinner table, or listening to the squishy sound of it wiggling. That is gross!
Since pulling the tooth, she has been dancing around the house composing celebratory songs on the fly. I like playing my own small part in her life.
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