For those who we didn’t tell, the Kid had dental surgery the other day. Some of her stubborn baby teeth were refusing to fall out on their own and the adult ones were cramming in behind them, and the orthodontist recommended pulling them.
Forty-five minutes under anesthetic, two worried parents, and seven teeth pulled. Two days later she’s a sore little kid who still can’t eat very well and is adapting to a gaping maw of life a half-dozen molars short of a full set.
I’ll spare the bulk of the dirty details. Needless to say, she’s been resting up and watching a lot of television, reading a lot of books, and (apparently) calculating the payout from the tooth fairy.
She knows I’m the tooth fairy.
She knows darn well that I’m the one who puts coins under her pillow — or in this case, bills. Doesn’t even play along. Just a “dad, I know it’s you guys” in an exasperated sigh.
At least they didn’t extract her personality.
But I’ll give it to her: in this case she earned the two bucks per tooth (which I’m told is the going exchange on enamel). And besides, she’s only got one little eye tooth left in that growing-up-too-fast jaw of hers, so… y’know.