So, Diva has eaten nothing since Sunday night. She has a tooth hanging. She is miserable, hence, I am miserable. And not miserable FOR her, miserable BECAUSE of her. That is not a nice thing for a mother to say, now is it?
It is so hard to be sympathetic to her. Saturday a.m. she got up, the tooth is twisted in her mouth, on the verge of falling out, all I need is to get in there with one swift PLUCK, and the world’s problems in Manic’s house will be solved. (Until the next fricking tooth decides to jump ship.)
She sat on my lap Saturday morning for over an hour while we did the “Loose-tooth dance.” She crying, sweating, breaking out into little bumpy spots on her forehead, drooling (because she cannot swallow for fear of inhaling the tooth), kicking, yelling, and then talking like this:
Mmmhhhi jssst wnnnt mhhhhy mhhhtooth mmhout. (I just want my tooth out).
On Saturday I plied her with the promise of playing on Barbie.com and that was enough to get her to forget about it for a while.
Yesterday, after she got off the bus, it was bad, but not bad enough that she couldn’t play outside with a friend until 6 p.m. Then, the drama started up again. She and I sat in this office from 7:30 p.m. till after 10 with me trying to coax her, bribe her, wit her to get the tooth out. Do you know how I wish I was brave enough to hold down her arms and yank it out of her mouth? I so wish I could. I took a flashlight into her room last night, thinking one quick motion and it would be all over. I even told her last night I would maybe do it.
I took her to McDonald’s and ordered her the largest milkshake in the entire free world and she could not drink it. Who can not drink a milkshake? People with their MOUTHS WIRED SHUT can manage to drink a milkshake. She, however, was unable to. Oh, the drama that is my daughter.
At the ungodly hour of 6:30 a.m. today, she comes into my room and starts yelling, “Mhhhdid mew take it mhout?”
“MHHHDID MEW TAKE IT MHOUT?”
She had WANTED me to take the tooth out while she slept. I swear we have wasted eight hours of our lives at least so far on worrying about this one little tooth. Her birthday is tomorrow. She is upstairs asleep in my bed right now, and when she wakes up, I am driving her to the dentist and begging him to please take it out, which is exactly what I had to do when she had the Nanny McPhee front tooth hanging just like this one.
Maybe the baby teeth know something we don’t. Maybe they’re afraid to be sent to the tooth fairy. Maybe they’re holding out for more money? Maybe they’re smarter than we are. I don’t know, but I do know these two things:
1. I am so glad Diva is not my youngest because I don’t want the tooth-falling-out experience of my last child to be such a miserable time. And I know when Tukey starts losing his teeth, he’s gonna just yank out the loose ones and say, “Hey mom, better call the tooth fairy, I’ve got another one for her.”
2. I am fearing the day Diva yells to me from the bathroom, “MOM! There’s blood on the toilet paper!”
Addendum: OK, just as I was going to hit the PUBLISH button to send this post out into cyberworld, Diva starts screaming for me from upstairs, so I run up, and there's puke on the carpet and she's saying, "Mhhi Mhhhhbarfed." There's yellow-acid puke in the bathroom. The girl has no food in her stomach and she is so worked up over this tooth thing that it makes her shake, get hot, puke, get the chills. And she just reminded me the last time she barfed was the first time she lost a tooth.
She asked if I could bring up her milkshake that I kept in the fridge from last night. She thought she could try to take a sip. The girl sucked on that straw and made the same sounds a newborn does when drinking from its mother's breast! Complete with the happy sighing and the sounds of the internal digestive system gurgling, saying, "Thank you! Thank you for putting something into this empty cavern that is my stomach!"
After she sucked and sucked and sucked, she looked up at me and smiled and said, "That is so good. Thank you so much mommy!"
I Heart My Baby Doll Diva Girl!
Addendum to the addendum: She puked up the chocolate milkshake. All over my bed. The tooth, it is stll there.