Seren had been withdrawn, quiet and cuddly for almost two weeks. I carried him with me throughout the day, allowing his sensitivity to be calmed and nurtured by my closeness. All the while, we thought he was growing a few new molars. Through high fevers, sleepless nights and difficult days, he seemed to recover a bit of his spark and playfulness.
I saw it just a few minutes after leaving the house for our trip to Mt Shasta. He looked up at me, talking and laughing, and I couldn’t believe what I saw: his front tooth, bent backward and mangled! Ouch! I felt nauseous. I must not be seeing this right, I thought. His tooth was fine all morning, and he’s been happy and playful. I looked again. Something’s wrong with Seren, I said. Stop the car. We all examined his mouth while he protested our probing. He wasn’t disturbed by the tooth, it seemed, only by our concern. Yet, it was clear: the tooth was broken in a bad way.
The mind races in this kind of situation. What happened? How did his tooth brake? Who was with him when this happened? Why didn’t we notice this sooner? What are we going to do? Is he going to be OK? What do we do? This is aweful….
My stomach was talking a lot too. The tooth’s appearance not only challenged my physical comfort, it challenged my sense of confident motherhood. How could I let this happen?
We drove immediately to the dentist. Seren remained relatively calm, aware and curious about our state of massive disturbance. We talked about possible outcomes, wavering between hope and fear, tears and deep breaths. Unable to do much, the dentist sent us to an oral surgeon, where 6 nurses had to hold him down while we cried through the loudest, longest, most difficult 5 minutes of screaming I’ve ever experienced in this life. Again, the mind races, the pictures fly: my baby is being tortured, how could this happen, what have we done, he’s going to be traumatized, what if he doesn’t recover?
With a local anesthesia, they pulled the badly broken tooth. And I held the clear bright space in my heart that knows all is well, nothing can truly harm him, and he is a free, capable, aware being that is actually laughing a bit at this ordeal. It’s your time to own your awareness and power, I heard him say to me in spirit. While his baby body was confused and clearly upset, his soul was serene, certain and smiling. And so was I, on the inside. But, outwardly, I was distraught, and the tears fell as I carried my baby, mouth drooling blood and crying desperately, out of the office of seeming terror. Gratefully, Seren wasn’t the only soul reminding me of the important spiritual lesson unfolding, and the power and presence I was being called to own.
Rarely do we receive notice before a situation where all of our inner and outer resources are called into action. This is especially true for parents. Motherhood asks us to remain calm, certain, grounded and ready to respond at all moments. Our children are our teachers, and their pop-quizzes are timed just right for our souls awakening. “Are you paying attention?,” they ask. I need your presence. Right here, right now, every moment. Don’t fall asleep, don’t drift off. Be awake, alert.
The tooth fairy came early, unexpected. And, like a truth fairy, it asked, “Can you have this?”
“Are you ready to have the power of your presence at any and all moments?”
“Can you have your peace and certainty in any circumstance?”
Boldly, I answered yes. Although, I’m hoping the next test will be gentler on my baby’s body.
By the way, Seren is well. He’s now my little snaggle-tooth man.
