THAT TOOTH FAIRY CHARADE

Amanda Willard - 5 Nov 14

No one told me before my children came along just how painful the tooth shedding process can be. And by that I mean for the parents.

Before kids I think I’d expected to benignly smile at my excited but unquestioning youngster as they discovered a shiny coin from the Tooth Fairy under their pillow, accompanied by fairy dust and were overwhelmed by the magic of it all.

I was probably also wearing a gingham apron in that particular daydream, having just baked a batch of perfect cupcakes to follow on from my morning leading a FTSE company’s AGM……

So much for that. The reality has become an angsty build-up of days of relentless and completely boring ‘tooth talk’ before the object in question finally decides to make its exit and I start obsessing about how to support the fantasy of the Tooth Fairy for a little longer.

The annoying, pesky Tooth Fairy. I never imagined the creative depths I would have to mine in order to keep the fantasy alive and that make-believe world intact.

My 7 year-old son has the smallest, neatest set of teeth that I’ve ever seen, with a giant gap between his front two that gives the opposite effect of Bugs Bunny and a non-existent whistling technique that would be frowned upon by any Disney character of old.

From the amount of wobbling I’ve witnessed recently, the Tooth Fairy is about to come knocking again. This time she’s under pressure as son has realised that the tooth is bigger and is therefore demanding a substantial increase in payment for this particular Pearly White (akin to Cameron battling Europe) on the grounds that a larger tooth must logically be worth a lot more.

As much as I’ve noted that capitalism is alive and well, I also wonder how many years we are going to keep this up for. These days how long do children keep believing in the wonder of a creature who comes into their house and gives, gives, gives?

When is the right moment to finally admit that their rising suspicions are in fact right? Sometimes I’m desperate to scream, “SHE”S NOT REAL. IT’S ME! IT’S ME” but I don’t want to be accused of plunging an axe in childish innocence if I ‘fess up. On the other hand, am I in fact being a responsible parent by issuing one of their first lessons in cold, hard reality?

My fiercely scientific little fella already has doubts….
How can she carry all those teeth from all those children without a heavy-duty bag to put them all in?
What does she even do with them when she gets them back to Tooth Fairy Towers?
Where does she keep her cash?
And finally, how come some of his friends are getting more for their teeth than he is? For a magical creature she’s rubbish at maths.

What he’s working up to is this…
Really, why the hell carry lumps of enamel about for a living anyway?
Isn’t that just plain weird?!

So the content of ‘tooth’ conversations with my son is basically one big lie but I do have to admit too that as an adult with daily exposure to news reports of poverty, terrorism and disease it has made me reconnect with a part of myself that I thought might have drifted off into the mists of memory.

Life as a mum is so very focused on snotty noses, finding shoes that fit, nappy changes, keeping vaccinations up to date and all those things that have to be ‘achieved’ that actually this should be one of the more fun parts.

Inevitably the bubble’s going to burst soon just as it did for me when my best friend next door decided to flatly announce that that other fictional do-gooder, Santa, wasn’t real……and I ran home crying…..My mother was then finally forced to admit that the sound of Rudolph’s sleigh bells in the distance had actually been her frantically shaking some milk bottle tops in a jar at the bottom of the stairs.

For now the charade limps on. I’m thankful for the happy thoughts and inspiration the tradition has given my son, but also slightly resentful of the man hours involved in maintaining the pretence.

Sadly his younger brother doesn’t stand a chance once the truth comes out. But that’s going to be another (fairy) story.

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Amanda Willard

Amanda Willard is a TV tart, nappy changer and lover of words. As a freelance writer she contributes to various online mags and blogs as well as The Huffington Post UK blog. She has also worked for many years in entertainment PR across TV and film. Amanda is also mother to two Ginger Ninja boys - Ben (7) and Charlie (3) and lives in South London with husband Dirk.

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