My almost six-year-old lost his first tooth recently. He really didn’t want it to go and fought it the whole way. Here are his five stages of tooth grief:

1) denial
mama, my tooth isn’t loose (as it hangs literally perpendicular to the rest of his teeth)

2) self-pity
why is this happening to me? why do I have to lose this tooth? why? why? why?

3) obstinate behavior
it isn’t coming out, NO MOM you can’t touch it, don’t touch it, NO MOM don’t get near my mouth

4) fear
ouch, something’s wrong, it hurts, its bleeding (this got us an emergency trip to the dentist)

5) relief and excitement
hey, that’s my tooth! what will the tooth fairy bring me?

Now my little guy is not the only one suffering grief. I have embraced a new life for him dominated by soccer, Wii, Pokemon and t-ball. But there’s something about this particular milestone that hits me in the heart with “the baby days are done.”

I’m moving on. I’m getting over it. I’m letting go. But I get a minute to reflect. There. Done. Maybe.