STI: When the tooth fairy disappears

Nov 8, 2004
When the tooth fairy disappears
by Sharon Loh

ALEXIS came scurrying out of the bathroom in a state of high excitement one morning.

'My tooth has fallen out!' she yelled. In her cupped palm was a tiny piece of enamel that had only recently sat among her lower teeth.

It had started to come loose very gradually, months before - an event full of endless fascination and promise for her, a real milestone.

A few classmates already had gap-toothed grins and she was dying to be among them. There are, after all, few more definitive signs of growing up.

So she worried it with her tongue and wiggled it with her finger for us to see. We admired it and started talking about tooth fairies and going rates for first teeth.

Privately I wondered how much pain and blood there would be, having forgotten what it was like, and how traumatised it would make my pain-averse child.

In the end, it was the innocuous action of brushing that dislodged the tooth and the pain, if any, was fleeting.

Describing it for us, she said she felt something fall into her mouth. Spitting it out, she saw her tooth in the sink - with a little blood, swiftly forgotten in the joy of having it finally come out.

The tooth fairy duly visited that night.

That was a few months ago.

Last Tuesday morning, it was the turn of Isabel, eager as always to follow in her sister's footsteps, being one year younger.

I wasn't there when it happened. Her father was at his computer when she walked into the room at one in the morning, bleary-eyed but thrilled. Again there was a cupped hand with a bit of enamel in it.

'My tooth fell out, Daddy,' said Isabel. It must have happened in her sleep.

The next morning, there was $2 under her pillow.

'The tooth fairy came, Mummy!' she cried.

Alexis, who is six and worldly-wise, clucked her tongue. 'Tsk. It was Daddy who put the money there.'

'Nooo-ooooo,' protested the younger one. 'It was the tooth fairy. I SAW her.'

Then, like her sister before her, she bore the tooth to school in a ziploc bag so that her classmates could bear witness to her rite of passage. (It wasn't the right day for show-and-tell but her teachers made an exception.)

I was left behind to sigh at the memories of when they cut those teeth, and their beautiful toothless grins which are gone forever.

Alexis was about nine months old when she cut her first tooth and Isabel was four months old. Even then she was in a rush to catch up with her sister.

The girls are at an age when they are in a real hurry to grow up. For them, it doesn't have the bittersweet taste that it does for us. Or the panic.

A few weeks ago, while I was at work, I got a message from their father, saying: 'The kids are out of control.'

Oh no, I thought. What now?

The next message read: 'They are wearing flashy outfits and make-up and dancing to music.'

We had a good laugh about that, but since then he's been putting away small pots of cosmetics that they've filched from my drawer and saying that they are not to wear make-up between the ages of 12 and 16.

Dream on.

But seriously, now their milk teeth have started falling out, I suppose questions about sex will soon follow (don't ask me what the connection is; mothers and logic don't have to go together).

Come to think about it, Alexis did ask me what sex was a couple of weeks ago.

I thought about it and said in my most matter-of-fact voice: 'Sex is what people do to get babies.'

I looked at her for the follow-up question. She was watching the television and seemed not to have heard me.

Phew. Bought myself some time.

It's going to come up again, I'm sure. That is, if I am lucky, and she doesn't feel she can't talk to me about it.

This business of raising a child has come to the point when it's no longer enough to feed, clothe and entertain them.

And as I juggle my various duties of worker, mother, wife, and daughter, I can't help feeling that my children will soon overtake me and run through the little wisdom that I have.

I can see it. They'll be streaking on ahead while I stall, saying: 'Wait, wait, a little longer, please.'

We've given them a few defensive skills so far: Do they know how to cross the road? Do they know not to go with strangers? Do they know the right phone numbers to call?

But there are spaces enlarging in their lives that don't include us, whether by choice or not. You realise that you can't always be there, not even when the first tooth falls out.

And now we are starting to have to face the bigger questions, like how to manage the dynamics of relationships, how to respect others and believe in yourself - issues which one still grapples with in middle age.

But some things remain universal whether you are four or 40.

For example, it's better to listen than to talk.

Whether or not you feel confident of your parenting skills, you will want to know that you've given them a few tools to help them navigate the world unsupervised.

After all, one day, the tooth fairy will disappear, for good.