Three Teeth, Four Days

The numbers can be overwhelming. Twenty-four feedings a day, two hours of sleep a night, nine booster seats for three different vehicles, twelve sippy cups, five strollers, three cribs, three vibrating chairs, three battery-operated swings (and one really, really huge meltdown while on maternity leave while short two D batteries for one baby who cried four hours), and on and on. Those are a few of the numbers–the ones I can remember–from our past, a past that has blurred so quickly due to the passage of time, the lack of sleep, the desire to move forward. The numbers are still overwhelming: they’re just different. Number of years still left to save for college. Number of times watching Hotel for Dogs. Number of buttonholes available to pull in the adjustable elastic on a pair of jeans (amount of elastic left hanging after doing so). Here we are, this week, and the numbers once again overwhelm. This time in a surprising, delightful, interesting, odd way: the number of baby teeth falling out. Three teeth, four days. Six dollars collected under three pillows.

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