Note: I found this post deep in my drafts folder today. It's never been published before. I wrote this six years ago, about the daughter who is now a senior in high school. I'm fine. It's fine. I just need to cry it out.--------------------------------------------
Last night, my oldest child lost her last baby tooth. It showed me everything I needed to know about who she is right now. In spite of knowing the truth about the Tooth Fairy (sort of), she wrote her a note to say goodbye, and thank you.
I say that she "sort of" knows about the Tooth Fairy because while I suspect she is aware of the truth, she hasn't talked about it. Perhaps because she knows once the gig is up, the dollars-for-teeth exchange will end and she dearly loves dollars. And certainly, other sixth graders would not hesitate to enlighten her on the true nature of the mythical, gift-giving characters she has grown up loving. They probably already have. But there's more to it than that. I think she wants to believe because she knows, at least for a little while longer, that she still can.
She avoids discussing any of this with me. Ostensibly because of her little brother and sister and the happiness they derive from it, but also because she's aware that there is power in not saying some things out loud. I think she stays silent because she knows that once it's openly acknowledged - it becomes real. An immutable fact. If she says it out loud, a beloved part of her childhood will truly be over. She isn't ready for that. Neither am I.
But we both know it's coming.
