I found a Ziploc bag of baby teeth in my closet yesterday. They were right next to a mountain of bra pad inserts that I haven’t used since 2002…
This treasure of chicklets is bona fide proof one time, very long ago, 5 littles roamed this place. The teeth, resembling tic-tacs, tumbled around, bumping into each other, unsure as to who their rightful owner was. Different shapes and sizes, some with dried blood still filling crevices, indicating that clearly each tooth had a story for its short time in its caregiver’s mouth.
These teeth that caused the pain and suffering of teething. My dad actually told me I should try putting whiskey on the girls’ gums because they will stop crying and well, pass out. Although I never followed this sage advice, I did seriously contemplate taking shots of whiskey myself.
These teeth popped up like little grains of rice, and as they found their “footing”, clamped down on mama’s breast during nursing, startling both of us equally, so that we both cried out in pain.
These teeth that ate ice cream for the first time at Roaring Camp Railroad with Grandma and Grandpa after we rode the train through the Redwoods. These teeth that ingested chicken nuggets, swished and swallowed pool water while learning to swim, and were carefully placed under pillows eagerly awaiting the Tooth Fairy.
These teeth are like wisdom holders. And what I learned is simply this: being a parent is not for wimps.
I’m not sure I can withstand finding any lost letters to Santa. But if I do, I’ll reach out.
If you ever find a random bag of lost baby teeth and it stops you in your tracks, you don't walk alone.
With Love, Michelle www.myvillagewell.com