Toothless tiger roars as he gets a wobbler extracted
The Wee Lad is a toothless tiger really - his roar is worse than his bite, particularly last weekend when he lost his very first tooth and roared his bloody head off in the fashion one would if one was being attacked by a tiger.
Earlier last week, he informed me of his 'wobbler', putting his pudgy finger into his mouth so I couldn't see anything at all. It was the bottom middle one and thanks to very smooth sailing in the tooth loss department of his older brother, I wasn't too concerned - in fact, I never thought about it again. But these things, as I should know by now, have a terrible habit of sneaking up on you when you least expect it and it was while The Lads and I were out for our tea on Saturday that the toothless tiger decided to roar.
It had been going well, too well now that I look back, and the Wee Lad was behaving himself and beating the chips into him, only drawing breath to swallow a gulp of strawberry milkshake. Then, however, he started grumbling, putting his hand up to his mouth and saying ouch a couple of times. I initially thought it was a hot chip that was doing for him and told him to blow on them and take it easy.
But when the napkin he stuffed into his gob came out with blood on it, I had to take it a bit more seriously and asked him what was wrong. 'Me toot' he told me, hot tears threatening to break the surface of his depressed little eyes. So, it was pay up quick and head home (the Wee Lad of course left nothing on his plate and managed to squeeze in a jelly and ice-cream, like, he wasn't dying or anything). The howling got worse in the car and it went to overdrive on the road home.
By the time I reached the kitchen, he was getting properly distressed but not from the pain, I thought, more from the fact that the 'wobbler' was now too wobbly and it was panicking him. He didn't like the way it moved alarmingly when he pushed it with his tongue. And it was quickly ascertained that he wouldn't sit still until the damn thing was out, but he didn't really want to jump into the unknown of getting it out either.
The Big Lad made a half-hearted attempt to comfort his brother, telling him not to worry. His gentle interventions were met with high pitched shrieks from the Wee Lad and so the Big Lad told me, as I cradled his bro on my lap: 'This is going to go on for a while, isn't it? And it's going to be painful. I can't look. I'm going upstairs to play on the computer'. Thanks very much son.
And so I was abandoned with the toothless tiger calming down one minute and howling the next. The Husband was working, not that he would have been use nor ornament in a situation like this.
So I gave the Wee Lad a drop of medicine and got some tissues and, over the course of 25 minutes, managed to persuade him that the 'toot' had to come out. He was 'Mamo's Brave Soldier', 'Mamo's Best Fella' while I swallowed hard and braved the tiger's jaws. The 'toot' was like the Wee Lad itself - quite small, but well rooted and definitely on the stubborn side. I had terrible images of torture victims getting their teeth extracted as punishment. But myself and the Wee Lad soldiered on and with one final twist, the 'toot' came out. He was immediately cured and ran to show his big brother. One down, 19 more toots to go.