There is no easy way to say this. I don’t think my kid can get cuter than she is with a big gap in the top row of her teeth.
I know that’s wrong in that “Oh no, here she comes, the one with the plastic sheet of photos that folds out to display 100 pictures she’ll expect me to ooh and aah over” way. You’d be wrong. I keep the photos on my iPhone — plastic is so 2002.
Then again, it’s probably just as wrong in the “Oh no, her kid is one day going to read this and may or may not have her self esteem completely wrecked by the fact that her mother said she can’t get cuter.” But I’m willing to go there.
Because there’s a difference between cute and beautiful, isn’t there?
She can turn into a beauty as she ages. But she will never again be able to grab hold of the privileges granted to children whose mouths appear to be winking at you no matter the words coming out of them.
Missing teeth gets you more than a visit from the Tooth Fairy (who brings $2 a tooth these days).
Cute gets you out of trouble when your mother comes downstairs on a Saturday morning to find the LEGO box threw up in the middle of the living room, and you haven’t even bothered to feed the dog yet. You just smile your big gap-toothed grin and say “I love you, Mommy,” and all is forgiven. Although you still have to feed the dog (and no, leaving your oatmeal bowl on the floor where she can lick out of it doesn’t count).
Cute lets you get away with banishing said dog to the bathroom because she is going to somehow destroy the perfect LEGO creation that no adult can discern in that pile before she’s had her caffeine.
Cute gets you a third story at bedtime when Mommy would prefer collapsing on the couch with bad TV.
Don’t judge me. If you saw that face, you’d do it too.
And now, this just in — there’s a wiggler on the bottom. The entire house is in trouble.