I have a baby tooth. I do. It is teeny tiny and it is still firmly attached to my jaw.
I don't know why but it never fell out, and it's grown-up counterpart, well, he is still resting comfortably in my gums...waiting...patiently.
My baby tooth, while very cute and baby-like, has caused me some degree of worry and anxiety over the years. I mean, they call it a "baby" tooth for a reason. It belongs to a baby. While I may act like a baby on occasion, I am decidedly not one in actuality and so, the baby tooth doesn't belong. Don't think I've never been gripped by fear or awakened in a cold sweat at the thought of my baby tooth falling out one day. The grown-up tooth, he's no self-starter, so I have no confidence that if my baby tooth actually did fall out, the big one would make an appearance any time soon. It's been 30 years already...what's 30 more, right?
So, in an effort to entice my baby tooth to stick it out for the long haul and be with me when I am once again in diapers I decided to make a fuss over it, introduce it to my friends and...name it. I also decided it was a "him". Since he is teeny tiny, I wanted to give it a confidence-inspiring name. "Otto" was my first thought, but then I picture a short, squat, hairy man, so I moved on. "Angus" was another, but I just got hungry, so it was scratched off the list. Finally, I settled on "Gunther". I think it suits him, and hopefully will have enough macho, slavic oomph to convince my baby tooth (who really is quite strong and manly...and handsome) to dig in, stay calcified, and remain in my mouth so long as all my other teeth do.
Oh...and "other teeth" I really, really *heart*, you too.