Asher says to me, “Mom, I think my sugar tooth is about to come out.”
I say, “What do you mean, your sugar tooth?”
He says, “You know, some people have them, and it means you like candy and cake and ice cream and stuff like that.”
“Oh!” I say. “You mean a sweet tooth.”
“Yes. My sweet tooth. It’s about to come out.”
I peer into his mouth. Sure enough, a bottom front tooth is cockeyed and in danger of falling out.
“Hmmm,” I say. “How do you know that one is your sweet tooth?”
“I just know,” he replied. “Don’t you know which tooth is your sweet tooth?”
Well, no, but now that you mention it, I kinda wish I did.
So Asher did end up losing his sweet tooth — and the one right next to it — a couple days ago. It was a relief to him, as those two were his first to go, and you know he’s almost seven now, and his peers had all joined the tooth-losing club long ago, so it was well past time he lose some baby teeth, dang it.
He put his two tiny teeth in a ziplock and then under his pillow and bargained for what he might receive in exchange. He took down the jar where we keep our “special” money and decided maybe a two-dollar bill would be appropriate. Or perhaps a buffalo-head nickel for each tooth.
In the end we paid him a dollar for the two teeth, because we hated to set too high a precedent right out the gate. We’ve got a lot of teeth to go, after all.
© Tami Blake