|Food goes here. . . but also, hey, where'd that toof go?|
SOMETHING is amiss. And if you can't spot it, you can perhaps be forgiven. Over the course of two days, this picture (to your right) represents the absolute best picture I was able to capture to show it. Or . . . not show it. . . depending upon how you look at it. I added an arrow in case it still wasn't obvious.
Two days after the Super Bowl, while at school, my baby lost her first toof. I say toof because it's way cuter sounding than tooth, and six is a cute age.
So she lost her toof, and that leads to a fantastic new lie to tell her, namely the the Tooth Fairy, but let's face it, if I can't even really get the concept of Santa Claus to take root in her mind, I'm sure as hell not bending over backward to insert this lie.
Complicating matters further. . . neither the school nor the daycare had any idea where the toof was. In fact, when I picked my angel up from daycare, I enthusiastically observed, "She lost her tooth!"
The daycare worker (washing Lily's hands at the time) said, "I noticed that."
There was a pause that stretched uncomfortably long before I asked, "And. . . do you know where it might be?" She did not.
I went through her book bag and lunch box and pockets and clothing bags. . . nothing.
When we got home I poured over the details of Lily's day as faithfully chronicled by her dedicated school aide. There was no mention of a toof.
Really? Because that seems like the kind of thing you'd note in your log book. "Lily had a good day today and sat attentively in Mr. R's class. In the afternoon we ate a hotpocket and . . . she lost her tooth." (for example) Something like that. But there was no mention.
The following day I asked the daycare if they had any ideas. The morning daycare worker swears she left the daycare with all her teeth. The afternoon daycare worker swears she arrived without one of them. The school acknowledged that they noticed at some point during the day that it was no longer in evidence in her mouth-al area.
*Sigh*. It made me sad in an ironic sort of way. I have bitched about "What are we doing with all these damned teeth?" in the past. But those were Emma's teeth. Each blessed bloody enameled treasure of which is tucked in my wife's jewelry box in our room. "Why are we keeping these?" There is no good answer to this question. And yet I find myself ironically sad because I don't have another useless bloody tooth to collect and store and bitch about unnecessarily keeping that represents Lily's contribution. I guess it feels a bit like a tiny betrayal. . . cared enough to save all of Emma's, but didn't even get Lily's first? Bad parents! Bad!
Ultimately, it's probably nobody's fault. We'd told the daycare and school that the tooth was loose, very loose, and to be on the lookout, but it would not surprise me in the slightest if Lily swallowed it at some point during the course of the day.
That night, Emma wrote a letter to the Tooth Fairy on Lily's behalf, explaining about the tooth being lost, and where it might be found, and apologizing for the inconvenience, and in the morning the Tooth Fairy had responded with a five dollar bill and reassurances that all was well written in glittering ink.
I held off writing this post thinking perhaps someone would find the tooth the next day, or the next, giving me a happy ending, but if it went where I THINK it went, it's probably just as well that nobody has. I've had a few days to make my peace with it, and I'm not sad anymore. My little girl is growing up.