The day I (almost) blew the tooth fairy.

Noah lost two teeth on the same day last week. He lost one a couple weeks ago at school too. They sent it home in a little plastic treasure box. 

Noah decided that day he was going to save the rest of his baby teeth and put them under his pillow all at once. He says he wants a lot of dollars at one time, not just one at a time. I'm not sure if he's holding his teeth hostage to exploit more money from her, or he's using her as a magical piggy bank. (Either way I think it's cute and just hope I manage to remember where I put all those teeth. Although, he already lost the third of the three in his bedroom the night it fell out.)

Wednesday we were at the dentist for a cleaning. We have a great pediatric dentist with an awesome staff. The dental hygienist (DH) has a parent with bipolar disorder, so she gets Noah and his meds a little bit more than some of the non-psych medical professionals we have dealt with. 

Although, for the first part of the visit I think she forgot who she had in her chair.

I don't remember what led to the conversation, but at some point Noah mentioned something about his dreams. The DH asked him about it and Noah told her about the vacuum cleaner that scares him and how it attacks him and Kiel in his dreams. He also told her that he and Kiel have the same dreams. It was a little bit ramble-y and a lot of confusing, even for me to listen to.

Then DH tried to rationalize the vacuum with him and get him to understand the vacuum really wasn't scary. Noah was not having any of it. 

I was sitting in the corner of the room laughing to myself. It's kind of like trying to convince a four year old that monsters don't live in your closet at night. No amount of rational explanation is going to push aside the real fear when you think you see the monster's eyes glowing in the dark, even if it is a reflection from the street light outside your window.

After I had my silent chuckle I decided to rescue both of them and changed the subject. I asked her how his new teeth were growing in and mentioned that he lost two of them within four hours of each other last week. 

And that's when I opened my mouth and (almost) blew the tooth fairy. 

I asked her how many teeth he had left to lose so I would know how many dollars I had to save up.

Noah looked at me and said "what? You don't pay me for the teeth, the tooth fairy does!" Then he rolled his eyes because obviously his mother is crazy, and he's absolutely correct.

The DH was sitting on her stool behind Noah, trying not to laugh and not saying a word. She saw my expression when I realized what I had said and frankly, I think she was enjoying my pain. Paybacks, yo!

Of course I'm back peddling like crazy at that point. In my head I'm telling myself to shut up, or at least slow down. Don't make it worse by over-explaining it. Take a breath. Think damn it, thank. Think think think!

So out of my mouth comes "Oh, duh, what was I thinking. I guess I'm not as plugged in with the tooth fairy as I am with Santa." 

Noah looked at me, even more confused and said "plugged in? I don't get it. What are you talking about?" 

Tears were rolling down the DH's face at that point, she was trying so hard not to laugh out loud.

Thankfully, the dentist saved me when he came in to do his check, so we both had time to compose ourselves. The DH saved me as well, because she told the dentist I was wondering if he thought braces were going to be in Noah's future, thus changing the conversation completely.

When the dentist was done I sent Noah to the waiting room.

The DH and I both started laughing. You know the kind of laugh. The half-hysterical, I'm either going to hyperventilate or pee my pants kind of laugh.

And that's when I turned to the dentist and told him I blew the tooth fairy. 

Well, actually I said "oh my god, I can't believe I did that, I just blew the tooth fairy."

He blushed, but at the time I had no idea why. The DH laughed even harder. Since she wasn't hyperventilating I'll just have to assume she peed herself.

And I'm thinking to myself "why is he looking at me so strangely?"

I didn't realize what I had said until I was walking out to the car with Noah.

It's good I don't have to go back for another four months when it's Kiel's turn.


 

We'll probably have to move now.

Tonight I stood up in a cafeteria full of parents attending a "community" meeting and spoke the only dissenting opinion.

I'll write more about the issue and the actual meeting later when I've stopped shaking.

But in a nut shell I sat through a three hour meeting full of reactionary fear based on poor information. A meeting where the vast majority of the people there had made a decision on the issue before they even got there. And once they were there didn't want to really listen to the answers to their questions.

I attended the meeting because I wanted to see how my community acted with each other. I never planned on speaking up. Mostly I wanted to make sure I understood the issue and then be able to go "hyper local" for a blog post on the Philladelphia Moms Blog. 

But I just couldn't take it by the end when not a single person there spoke up expressing concern for anyone but their own families. 

Fear. A room full of fear. Reactionary fear.

And I spoke up and said I was saddened by the lack of compassion in my own community. 

And while I was doing it I knew it wasn't making me popular.

I told Rich I'm pretty sure I never said my name, so we may be OK. 

Except for giving my name to the reporter that was there. Oh crap.

8 weeks, 2 days

All is well. I've just been so busy being tired. Incredibly tired. Not wanting to leave the couch kind of tired. With a tiny bit of nausea thrown in for good measure.

Ultrasound this morning showed a good sized embryo at eight weeks five days. Still hard to see, but the white blog toward the middle of the black space is the head. The torso to the left of that, with the thin white bit being the umbilical cord. The heart beat was steady at 166 beats a minute.

Today I feel pretty good. I think I always feel better the day of the ultrasound. I get gradually more uptight leading up to each one. So much fear that I will go in and the heart won't be beating or the growth will have stopped. Amazing Daddy just doesn't understand why I do this.

Of course, he also doesn't understand why I called him at work this morning asking him where The Boy's fucking shoes were, and why I think it's his responsibility to make sure I can find them in the morning. Then he made some comment about how tired he was, to which I responded "you're tired? You're tired? You think YOU are tired?" He may be a little scared to come home tonight.