Well, it happened. My baby lost her first tooth. She kept at it, wiggling it when she woke up in the morning, shaking it when showering, wiggling it on the toilet, wiggling it in the car, wiggling it every minute of the day until she felt it was ready enough for pulling. She jumped on her father the minute he came home last night and conspired with him in the bathroom.
Darcy: "Pull my tooth, Daddy, pull it!"
She then proceeded to yank on the tooth herself until it bled. She just kept pushing the tooth forward.
Darcy: "Pull it!"
Her father wiggled it, and then he twisted it. She didn't move. He pulled and twisted, pulled, and twisted.
Him: "Does that hurt?" He was worried.
Darcy: "No." She glanced at him. "Yes. No. Well, just a little, but pull it. Just pull it."
He pulled it out, and she bled. She was full of joy. Stuffing a tissue into her mouth, she danced around the house, showing us all her missing gap and the pulled tooth.
She ran into the room to show me. I looked into her smiling face at the empty gap, pulled her to me, and burst into tears. I sobbed and sobbed.
She stood there, letting me cry, and then quietly, she put her arm around me and patted my back.
Darcy: "I'm just growing up now, Mommy."
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