Tooth Fairy

Louisa lost her first tooth.

My beautiful little girl lost her first little baby tooth.

And I cried.

I cried and cried and cried.

In that moment I didn’t know why the tears streamed heavily down my cheeks as I cuddled her tightly, congratulating a new milestone.

A milestone like so many other six year olds.

A glimpse into ‘normal’.

But yet, so far from it at the same time.

Because there was no tooth, my guess is that she swallowed it. There will be no creepy collection of baby teeth I have in my jewellery box like I do for Fred. There was no excitement about The Tooth Fairy coming and leaving behind a shiny one pound coin under her pillow.

There was only an oblivious Louisa….. and my tears.

And once again I felt a wave of pain. A wave of sadness and I guess the only way to describe it was…… I just felt a bit gutted.

Gutted that she didn’t understand and gutted that in that moment, I couldn’t find the magic.

Rightly or wrongly that’s how I felt. And the tears fell. They fell hard and fast. I squeezed her tightly and I cried these salty, emotion filled tears – trying to explain to her with my cuddle how much I loved her. Trying to remind myself that she is my perfect Louisa and my tears did not reflect how much she means to me and how wonderful she is.

And next came the guilt, feeling utterly disappointed in myself that a happy moment, a precious moment for Louisa that many children with rare genetic conditions may never have the privilege to reach – was turned into a ‘Michaela grief’ moment. How I could make something so ‘normal’ be turned into something I felt sad about?

And that realisation bothered me. It made me angry at myself. Disappointed in myself. It made me really reflect on where I am in this journey.

Because so often I feel like I’m doing well at being Louisa’s mum. It’s a privilege and one where nowadays the joy overrides any sadness. That life has adapted. I’ve grown in my knowledge, acceptance and understanding and we’ve found a happiness years ago I didn’t think was possible. We’ve settled and – although we haven’t found complete calmness – I have come to accept that calmness doesn’t really exist with a disabled child as there’s always something around the corner to throw a spanner in the works – in spite of that, we’ve found more peace…..

…… so why now? What brought all these tears?

It’s taken me some time to unpick – but I think I’m there.

The tears came because…

I’m scared.

I’m really scared.

I’m scared of Louisa growing up. I’m scared of what her life looks like as a older child, as a teenager, as an adult. The world isn’t as kind to disabled adults as it is to cute little girls with pink glasses. And I’m terrified. I’m terrified for my baby.

This lost tooth represented the future. The growing up. The unknown.

And whilst fearing the future, at the same time I’m also longing for it too – wanting to know if Louisa will stay healthy and praying she will always be with us.

My tears were filled with a combination of every emotion felt from the past, the present and the future. All rolled up into one.

The regular milestone caught up within a world of delayed and missed ones.

Over the past six years I’ve detached myself from the regular trajectory for Louisa on so many things – yet in that moment, with this tiny lost tooth, I was experiencing a normal thing. My mind was blown.

This life can be so complicated.

But I know I have had to give myself grace. I have to feel my feels. I have to forgive myself for my tears but also remind myself to hold them back from Louisa. She may not know why I’m crying, but I’m sure she knows when I’m sad. And she deserves to be shielded from that. I need to protect her. Because it’s not her, these emotions are mine. This grief is the baggage I carry. She is not heavy.

Last night, Fred, David and I wrote a little note to The Tooth Fairy explaining that Louisa lost her tooth but we couldn’t find it. We popped the note in Louisa’s Tooth Fairy bag and – to our amazement – this morning we found a bag of shiny, gold chocolate coins. A real bit of money means nothing to Louisa, but chocolate – she is all for chocolate! What a cheeky Tooth Fairy! We danced and jumped for joy and then Fred, Albie, Louisa and I all sat on her bed eating her treasure (that Louisa very kindly shared!).

“I can’t wait for you to lose your next tooth Louisa!” Fred smiled.

This world is messy. Sometimes the most seemingly simplistic things take the wind out of your sails. You fall to the floor. There are brief periods of time that feel like agony. But only for a moment. Then you get back up, dust yourself off and continue the ride.

Because there IS magic.

It just looks different.