Toothless wonder.

"Can you believe it, Mom," my six year old asks me, rhetorically, "can you believe your little baby is losing her teeth already?"

No, I can't believe it, Reese. Really, I can't.

This tooth thing came up unexpectedly. OK, it had been loose for weeks but then the actual coming out part happened in a millisecond, on our way through the school yard. Reese had her mouth open, showing her former preschool teacher the tooth in question, and before I knew it, that sucker was out and what do you know, a large, raggedy big kid tooth was right there, already popped through and waiting to take it's rightful place.

It seemed like an inappropriate amount of grieving time.

Since then, the Tooth Fairy's come and gone and I find myself thinking about this little tooth of hers, now in a plastic bag (whatever do you do with the things?) and it's just a microscopic tiny bit, just a seed really. However did she eat with that speck? How was her first chewing gum chewed? Her strained sweet potatoes strained?

Then I realize that lower left tooth was probably what kept me awake months three through six of Reese's life, while she teethed and fussed, drooling like a French bulldog. That tooth was probably the one Reese used to gum her first Cheerio, gnaw on her beloved bunny, Bubba - maybe it was the one she used to bite me once on the changing table, making me yelp and raise my voice and scaring us both. And I'm sad for that. I'm sad that tooth is gone, even though I don't wish go back to those days because I love where we're at now: field trips and birthday parties and reading and making up stories and having sleepovers and talking about important things like why can't whoever wants to get married get married. I love my girl with the world view and a perspective that comes so pure of heart.

But still, I'm sad for that tooth. Because when one phase is done, it's done. And it's bittersweet. The doneness of it all.

By the time braces hit, I'm going to be a pro at this, right? Maybe.