We stood outside, watching our toddler race down the hill, trip and roll forward through the grass. The boy sat up with a confused look at ending up on the ground. Laughter burst from both of us, unstoppable and refreshing, on an otherwise bleak day.
Suddenly, Daddy Longlegs gasped and put his hand to his mouth.
Instinctively, I looked to Little Legs, happily rolling on his back in the grass, ensuring another complete outfit change. Certain that the boy was safe, I looked in question at his father.
“What is it?” I asked.
“My tooth, something is wrong with it. It’s actually my crown,” he mumbled.
I stood up on tiptoes to peer uninvited into his mouth. Since having my boys, there is nothing about the human body that bothers me, except for blood. The sight of it makes me woozy.
“I think it is loose.”
“Let me see,” I said.
He pulled his lip back like he was caught by a fishhook and wiggled the tooth in question with his tongue.
It was not only loose; it was no longer connected to anything in his mouth. A free-floating bit of resin impersonating Daddy Longlegs’ tooth came off onto his tongue.
“Oh God,” I said feeling queasy.
“It is bad?”
“Well, as you may already know, the crown is no longer connected to your tooth nub and you are going to swallow that very expensive crown if you don’t take it out and store it until you can get to the dentist.”
Daddy Longlegs thought about this information with a closed mouth to keep his little treasure in place.
“Do you know what the dentist who put this in told me to do if it came off?” he asked.
I felt concerned that the dentist gave him a back-up plan for the crown and wondered about the credentials of this so-called dentist.
“He told me to get some superglue and stick it right back in place.”
It was my turn to gasp.
Then, instead of calling the so-called dentist for an emergency appointment, he situated his crown next to the bathroom sink, where it remains.
“It is where people keep their teeth,” he explained.
Or in this case, his tooth. We are in Tennessee, after all.