Tattletale

So, I'm publishing a post with no picture (you'll thank me for that momentarily). I want to tell on myself before Tony has a chance to tell on me. This evening, we were invited to a Christmas party for the magazine/website Tony's been writing for this year. We were running late, Tony had just walked in the door, and I was trying to get a bread pudding in the oven to take with us. I corralled the children toward the bathroom for baths when Sophie tripped over Andrew and fell on the floor. Poor baby, we just ignored her at first when she was crying because she throws lots of tantrums.

I finally sent Tony in to get her, and I noticed that where she had her mouth on Tony's shirt was blood covered. I sent him to get paper towels and I went in to check out the blood damage to the floor. I noticed something small and white in the middle of the floor and frantically told Tony that Sophie had lost a tooth. He picked it up and put it in a glass of milk while I hysterically called the dentist office.

The very nice receptionist asked me if she knocked out the whole tooth or just part. I sifted through the glass and realized that a) the "tooth" was mushy, not hard and b) Sophie was no longer crying or bleeding - just patiently letting Tony check out her mouth. At this point, I sheepishly told the receptionist that Sophie still possessed all her teeth and that perhaps I needed to vacuum the crumbs off my floor a little more often.

Epic parenting fail - you'd think I 'd be getting smarter in my old age.