Wanted: Tooth Fairy
I’m not going to lie to you, teeth are revolting.
Not those straight pearly whites sitting nicely in your mouth. Those are gorgeous. I’m talking about the natty bloody things that swivel and dangle and eventually jump ship from the mouths of my babes.
Ewwww. They are so gross.
I am not a wimp. I can handle this mothering stuff with one hand tied behind the tylenol. I have weathered dislocated arms and bloody contusions and concussions. I’m tough as nails. Just don’t make me wiggle your loose tooth. I cannot stomach the teeth.
(While we’re at it you may as well know: I don’t handle eyes that well either.)
I adore my children. I’m just looking to outsource the management of their eyes and teeth.
Speaking of managing the teeth, I’m in a bit of a pickle. Having been previously accused of callously recycling precious scraps of artwork, I have taken to saving things, ridiculous things, all in the name of doing this mommy job right. Which is exactly why I find myself in this current quandary.
There sits, in my bedside drawer, a small vial.
It is a vile vial.
Contained within it’s gruesome hold are nine baby teeth; eight from child one, and now one from child two. It is disgusting, but I don’t know what to do. I never got the memo. Are we supposed to save the teeth? Am I all alone here with my macabre collection, or are parents everywhere harboring vulgar hoards of discarded body parts?
All of which goes to prove my point: this tooth fairy-ing business should be left to the professionals.
I’m begging you, before another one bites the dust, be our tooth fairy.
There’s a buck a tooth in it for you.
This face?
Give it a chance. I swear it’s not one of those only a mother could love.