Know why it's called a "toothbrush" and not a "teethbrush"? It was invented in Arkansas! Ha ha...
Last week Jack and Owen eagerly announced that they each had a loose tooth. They'd show anyone who would give them ten seconds of attention how they could wiggle it with their tongues and then their fingers.
Today that ended for Jack. After spending all morning with his finger in his mouth, he came to me to let me know he couldn't get it back; it was stuck protruding forward. I decided it was time.
Right after sterilizing my trusty needle-nose pliers, I gave Jack a damp paper towel to bite on after the extraction. He asked if it was going to hurt and I told him I thought it would a little bit (lacking memories of my own teeth falling out).
The next ten seconds were traumatizing. The pliers gripped the incisor nicely, and the connecting tissue tore slowly, so that I could feel the tension in the flesh as it tried to hold onto that little guy but failed. I don't think tearing off a limb could have made me feel more nauseous. Then I wrote up an invoice for $6,800. Ha ha, just kidding, I'm not a doctor/dentist. But Jack survived the ordeal just fine, unlike his dad, who will stick to cleaning up blood, diarrhea, broken bones, and puke, and let Mom handle the teeth-pulling.
Jack is so excited to put it under his pillow for money tonight. I guess I'll go get a small stack of dollar bills for the ensuing months.
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