There's something universally funny and heartwarming about the sight of a child with a toothless grin. It’s a stage that, as an adult, I had almost completely forgotten about—until now. Watching my 7-year-old son go through the hilarious, slightly awkward, and undeniably adorable phase of losing his baby teeth has been an unexpected delight.
You know how you can go years without thinking about the concept of losing teeth, only to suddenly find yourself in the middle of it all over again, but this time from the perspective of a parent? It’s like a chapter in life that gets closed during adulthood but then reopens with a burst of nostalgia and unexpected humor. And that’s exactly where I am now—navigating the world of wobbly teeth, tooth fairy negotiations, and that classic, big-toothed lisp that comes when the two front teeth are missing.
I’ll admit, there’s something almost surreal about it. One day, my son was showing me how he could wiggle his loose tooth back and forth with a mix of fascination and pride. The next, he was standing in front of me with a triumphant gap-toothed smile that made him look equal parts mischievous and endearing. And every time I catch him walking around the house, sporting that toothless grin like it's the most natural thing in the world, I can’t help but chuckle.
What makes this even more charming is the contradiction it brings up in me. On one hand, I know he’s growing up—a bittersweet reminder that he’s not the tiny baby I used to cradle anymore. On the other hand, it’s so adorably comical to see him look like a little jack-o’-lantern. It shouldn’t be okay, this visible marker of his growth, but somehow, it is. Because at 7, he's still my baby, just with an ever-changing smile that tells the story of his childhood in the most authentic way.
And then there’s the inevitable nostalgia. Remembering what it was like to have a loose tooth myself—poking at it with my tongue, feeling both excited and nervous for the moment it would finally give way. It’s like watching history repeat itself, but now with a front-row seat as the tooth fairy's assistant (and financial backer).
There’s an innocence in this stage, a unique charm that mixes the humor of unexpected smiles and the pride of a growing child. My son wears his toothless look with confidence, even when he can’t quite bite into apples the way he used to. And I’m here for every lisped sentence, every gap-toothed laugh, every moment that reminds me that growing up doesn’t happen overnight. It happens one tiny, wiggly tooth at a time.
