Death of the Tooth Fairy
When my little girl was very much littler, she began a correspondence with the tooth fairy. Each time a tooth came out, the tooth fairy wrote back, no matter how busy or tired she was. It was quite a chore, remembering the world I'd constructed. Often it felt like a total pain in the neck, and I moaned about it, and about the Motherload that went with it — what was I trying to prove? That I was a Perfect Mother? I was an idiot, trapped in my own sentimentality. Rage rage, write write. One day the tooth fairy even sent a photo of her shadow. The little girl was utterly enchanted, and the correspondence grew apace. This week, my daughter's last baby tooth, a molar, came out. We were staying with friends, and she said in dismay, "I'll have to write to the tooth fairy and say goodbye!" I felt secretly pleased — that was one chore out of the way then. Phew! That night she wrapped the tooth in tissue paper, and slipped it under her pillow with her note. Late...