It’s not even like he was jumping on the bed.
He was getting down off of it, like he does one million times a day after we’ve played Igloo for four hours, when gravity sucked him into its vortex and that side table bashed his front tooth clear out of his head.
Blood was everywhere.
Brandon swore and ran to the closet to put pants on (my husband, the go getter). I scooped up my hysterical boy.
Swallow, swallow, swallow. Don’t choke on the blood. Swallow.
Brandon was half way out the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To the emergency room!”
What little inspection that can be made on a toddler who has just had a piece of skull ripped from him proved that there were no cuts, gashes, or broken bones. Just a gaping hole where his precious little tooth used to be.
“Call my mom.”
Having a registered nurse for a mom is possibly the most helpful thing ever. She said that if there was any piece of tooth remaining, we should call a pediatric dentist. If the tooth was completely gone, there was nothing to worry about, and it was definitely gone. We made an appointment for Monday anyway.
I held and rocked E forever. We put on Monsters Inc. and I held and rocked him some more until he fell asleep. Trauma’s exhausting.
He hasn’t been the same since. Brandon thinks he is broken. He’s not broken. Just swollen, recovering. Sleeping more and eating less than usual. Like a break up, only with a tooth. The good news is that it was a baby tooth. The bad news is that he’ll be that gap-toothed kid until the adult one grows in. I guess it’ll be his trademark.
We never did find the tooth. Stupid tooth fairy tried to take matters into her own hands with nothing to show for it. Bitch.