My first time
I was so nervous about my first time. Total performance anxiety, really.
I'd known in the abstract that it would happen at some point, but as we got closer to the actual event, I started to obsess over details and freak out, much to Mark's amusement.
It helped that I wouldn't be alone in this, but still, what if I didn't do everything right? What if I let him down?
My friends talked about it, but they weren't free with the details (other than the money aspect, and on that front, let me just say, we're going to have to agree to disagree), and I wasn't about to go to the library and ask for a book. Because most of the time I have the kids with me and that would be totally inappropriate.
So other than a few words of advice from my mother ("Angie, it's not that difficult. Just get in there and do it. Make sure you leave the lights off,") I braced myself for the big night.
Then the two of us ended up fumbling around in the dark, trying to insert part A into slot B as quietly as possible.
"Why the hell did you have to get Velcro?" Mark hissed at me.
"It was all they had!" I whispered back. "Next time we need a tooth pillow in a hurry you can go comparison shopping!"
We froze as the floorboards creaked.
"It's ok," he said. "Here."
I held out cupped hands, communion-like, to receive the wee tooth, then slipped him a coin.
"Okay, go!" I said. "Just put it in and hurry up!"
In the end all that worry was for naught. Our son ran into our room, gap-toothed and smiling. "Mommy! Daddy! The Tooth Fairy came!"
I smiled the smile of parents everywhere who have pulled the wool over their offspring's eyes. Until . . .
"Mommy, I'm going to leave the Tooth Fairy a thank you note!"
"You don't really need to do that, sweetie," I said.
"But I want to!" he pleaded.
So I relented, but made it clear that there would be no nightly correspondence with the Tooth Fairy. This was a one-time deal.
We had a babysitter that night for our tenth anniversary, and we came home from dinner at a Brazilian steakhouse after two caipirinhas each. Our sneaking was less than stealthy, partially because my 4-inch sexy pumps had left my big toes numb. The note was written on paper that was more akin to cellophane than papyrus, and our son gave an alarming snort and turnover during the retrieval operation.
But we got through it.
As our son gleefully said the next morning, "Only nineteen more, Mommy!"
Did I mention he's a twin?
Angie Kinghorn is a lifelong North Carolinian and a sorority girl turned Junior League dropout. She is one of the co-authors of our bestselling humor anthology, “You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth,” and her work has also been published in Precipice: The Literary Anthology of Write on Edge, and the BlogHer 2012 Voices of the Year compilation. She’s a firm believer in God, dark chocolate, and the Oxford comma. Friends predict that the availability of Sharpies combined with society’s affinity for bad grammar will eventually get her arrested. She writes at AngieKinghorn.com, and you can follow her on Twitter @AngieKinghorn.