See this kid?
He's kind and sweet and thoughtful,
he's helpful and generous with his little brother and sister,
he's quick to obey and loves to snuggle,
and he leaves notes on my pillow almost every night.
I *heart* you."
Surrounded by smiley faces and hearts.
He's super fun to have around.
Most of the time.
But because he's six, sometimes he's really not easy-going, and really not sweet.
It's rough, I know. I actually remember being six. I remember I spent a lot of time crying. Thinking about how unfair the world was and how if everyone could just do things the way I was telling them to, life would be awesome.
Turns out, Nick's basically a repeat version of myself.
And you'd think that would make raising him easier, but no. I'm terrible at raising my clone. I'm so grateful I wasn't my own parent, and gosh I hope I don't ruin this boy!
Anyway, on Thursday we went on a walk.
Nick started throwing a bit of a fit on the way home. He wanted to ride in the stroller where Christian and Ellie were riding.
Ellie's a peacemaker and a pleaser, so she got out of the stroller for him, but her little legs were tired, so I (logically) suggested they take turns.
Okay, so I'm sure you can imagine the rest of our walk (especially if you've ever had a six-year-old.)
When we got home, he was still carrying on. And on. And on.
At one point, he was sitting next to our fireplace while I was working on finally making my own lunch after feeding everyone else, and he was moaning and groaning. With both hands on the sides of his head, he tossed his head back, shouted
"What on EARTH?!" (His typical phrase when he thinks I'm being unreasonable and ridiculous.)
and threw his head forward.
The crack of his tooth on the corner of the fireplace hearth was so loud I felt it in my bones.
His tooth, the baby tooth just to the right of his front middle grown-up teeth, was pushed backwards and turned to the side and down far enough that he could no longer close his mouth. And there was blood.
Now those of you that know Nick can imagine how the next three hours of our life played out.
For those of you that don't, I'll just tell you this: One time, he tried to insist he couldn't go to school because he had a papercut. And "Bleeding means DYING, Mom!"
So. I finally handed him the tablet so he could play Agar I/O for a bit and just.stop.screaming.
Once he was calm, and with some incredibly intense "Calm down" pep talks (for both of us), I managed to pull out his tooth.
And my boy? He didn't even cry.
(And I didn't pass out, which is almost a bigger achievement. Teeth seriously gross me out.)
(Also, the tooth fairy didn't forget to visit, which is also something to be proud of.)