Bubba is a few months away from being 6 years old, and I noticed earlier this week when helping her brush her teeth that one bottom tooth was moving forward. We started talking to her about if it was wiggly to let us know. Tonight, she asked for a better definition and physical example of wiggly. She kept her finger on her tooth, and I had to call her over and verify for myself that her tooth is, in fact, wiggly. We chatted for a bit about the Tooth Fairy and how she would bring money. I said if she's lucky, she'll get a penny. She kept repeating that she'd get a penny under her pillow and getting an excited look on her face, that I finally broke down and said she'd probably get even more than that. Mower suggested she call her 8-year-old cousin to get the going Tooth Fairy rate. I gave him the wife shut-the-hell-up look. I am still undecided about what the Tooth Fairy will bring my baby, the one who should still be in diapers and weigh only 6 pounds and take 15 naps a day. Maybe she'll bring her a time machine. Sigh. I hate growing up!