We've spent four days watching it wiggle. It began, quite suddenly, to loosen. That front tooth has gone from a little loose to a craggy, comical near-drop, all in a matter of days. We've spent four days watching her squirm, with anticipation. She looks at it in the mirror every time she sees a mirror. She wobbles it with her tongue whenever she isn't checking it with her fingers (and she is always checking it with her fingers). We've coached her through the fear of pain, and assured her, ad nauseam, that she won't swallow it in her sleep. Every morning she jumps out of bed to see if her tooth has fallen out over night. Every hour, or so, we are asked to see, look, look at how wiggly it is. If I were to count how many times I've checked, I would have lost count by now; and I'm only half of the Wiggle-Judge Panel.
But, for the third time this year, the Tooth Fairy won't be coming to our house. We might get a picture on a cell phone, and a new reality next time we see her. The real transition, that big moment, will be on someone else's doorstop, under someone else's roof. Someone else will hold her hand or rejoice with her when the big moment comes. We will hear about it.
I suppose someone less selfish wouldn't mind so much. And, I suppose, by now I should be used to this whole sharing thing. But I'm not.