The Great Sedative

Another tooth bit the dust today in our household. This time Spencer lost his first tooth.



Exactly one week after Allison's first one came out. Here's our not-so-matching set of twins... each one missing his or her first baby tooth.



He came home from school yesterday with the bottom front tooth hanging on by a mere thread of flesh. The gum on the back side of his tooth was swollen puffy from the abuse it had taken via Spencer's wiggling efforts.

Spencer fussed at supper and cried because it was so hard to eat without hurting the area. That's when I supercede all requests to leave the tooth alone and instead have that sucker pulled. Because I see relating eating to pain as a bad thing. I'm all for tooth-pulling tough love... a little pain now for some peace later.

But my little guy was adamant.

I'd say, "Let's get that thing outta there."

"No," he'd reply, while scooting a bit farther away from me. As if I were going to launch across the room with a pair of pliers to pull it out right then and there.

Ummm, no. Teeth pulling ain't for sissies. That's Daddy's job, not Mommy's. There's blood involved. On purpose. I didn't sign on for that when I became a mom. I knew there'd be blood and broken bones, but never on purpose.

All night I dropped a variant of the phrase: "Let's pull it." Always earning his same response: "No." Consistently said with increasing amounts of fear laced in his voice.

At bedtime, he was still wiggling that tooth. And we were certain he'd be downstairs in no time with his prize. But that didn't happen.

So I fixed him oatmeal for breakfast and packed his lunch bag with Spaghettio's, pudding and Fig Newtons. But after sending him to school, I thought I should have heeded Bruce's advice to slip him some Laffy Taffy and hope the candy pulled the tooth out.

Spencer came home from school with that tooth still hanging. So I started my mantra again, but I altered it a bit.

"Let's get that tooth out," I said. "I've never pulled one before. Let me do it. I'll be very gentle."

"No."

He's consistent at least.

Fine. I needed the big guns... a ploy to prey on his sensitive nature.

"Nobody ever lets me pull their teeth. Why can't Mommy have a try?"

"Ohhhhhh, okay!" Said largely, I'm sure, to get me to hush.

But so what. Victory was mine.

And then I remembered that whole blood thing. But I was committed then. I had to muster up some of my own courage and take care of business.

I needed a sedative though.

For him. Not for me. I'm a big girl. A sissy, yes, but still a big girl.

We went to the den, plopped our bottoms down (mine on the couch, his on my lap), and I cued up the latest TiVoed episode of Spiderman. TV is better at sedation than any drug I know. (For kids anyway.)

Then the dickering began. I could wiggle and push and prod and twist, but when his little hand raised up in a "Stop" sign, I had to cease and desist. Because, he said, he might need to swallow or breathe. Swallowing and breathing is good. Our deal was set.

After about five minutes, I noticed a little blood. Allison got us a couple of paper towels, and we kept right on toward our goal.

After about seven minutes, I heard that crunch noise that lets you know a bit more root has let go. Yuck!

And after nearly eight minutes, I had in hand a tooth that had been set free!

And my boy had no idea. Because Spidey was into some intense action right about then.

I nudged Spencer and said, "Hey, Buddy..." I held the tooth up until it was in his line of vision, and he said, "Ohmigoodness, it's out! And it didn't even hurt."

We made the requisite call to Bruce at work to tell him the good news. We also got the camera out and made pictures.

And then my sweet boy told me the nicest thing.

"Mom, that was easy. I'll let you pull all my teeth!"

Am I blessed, or what?