“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
I’m interrupting tonight’s regularly scheduled blog post for an Ev update. In 24 years of mothering, I haven’t escaped many experiences—good and bad. In fact just the other day when my co-worker was telling me the story of her youngest son chipping a tooth, I chirped (yes, I was dumb enough to say this): “Oh, interestingly enough, that’s the one thing I’ve never had happen to one of my kids; they’ve never knocked out a tooth.”
“Just wait,” she replied knowingly, “This will be the one.”
Really? What was I thinking making such a bold and foolish announcement? Wait a minute. What was SHE thinking cursing me with that comment?
Today while I was still at work trying to get a few things crossed off my long list, my phone rang. It was Lizi’s friend, Sarai, with the news that Ev had fallen, and they thought he might need stitches on his lip. Oh, and by the way, he chipped his tooth, she adds. I can hear Ev screaming bloody murder in the background.
Great. Just great.
Of course, I’m shutting down my laptop at work even as she’s telling me what happened. I hurry to meet them at the Urgent Care, wondering the whole way how bad Ev really was. But nothing prepared me for actually seeing him. My charming guy looked like a cross between Billy Bob and Rocky–lip cut and swollen and bleeding, gaping hole where a cute little tooth had been. Lizi had the foresight to bring the tooth in a plastic cup, and I can see that the whole tooth has popped out, root and all.
In the urgent care, the doctor looks at Ev and asks how it happened.
“I was trying to fly over the Mickey Mouse sprinkler. Like Superman.”
Yes, he was trying to fly over the sprinkler, but landed face first on the concrete instead. The doctor examines him carefully and declares that Ev will just need time to heal. The tooth coming out in its entirety has saved us a trip to the ER for surgery to remove the root. He tells Evan to make sure that the next time he flies over Mickey Mouse to make sure he is on the grass.
“Well,” Ev tells the doctor seriously, “I shoulda’ had Rocket Swimming Boots on–then it woulda’ worked. Next time I will!”
Terrific. I’ll be on a first name basis with the doctor before Ev turns six.