It finally happened: Lavinia lost her first tooth.

It had been wobbly for weeks, and she’d been patiently (and not so patiently) waiting for it to fall out. In that odd limbo of childhood, she alternated between being absolutely ready for it and completely terrified of the idea. She came up with a few ways to help it along, some more inventive than others 🤣 but never actually went through with any of them. The idea of pain was too scary, and honestly, I can’t blame her.

Losing a tooth for the first time is such a weird, alien experience. I don’t think many adults remember what it feels like – the strange sensation of something that was once part of you slowly detaching, the fear of bleeding, the unknown pain that might come with it.

It’s a rite of passage, yes, but also a little bit of horror.

The tooth-reward plan

From the moment that little tooth began to wiggle, Lavinia made a very important decision: who should collect it. In Italy, we have il topolino (the little mouse) who comes to take your tooth and leave something in return. But Lavinia thought it through and decided to go with the more glamorous, less rodent-like option: the Tooth Fairy. “She’s less gross,” she said. Fair point.

Weeks before the tooth actually fell out, she wrote the Tooth Fairy a letter requesting a chocolate coin as her reward. Nothing fancy, just a humble chocolate coin. But as you’ll see in the picture below, the Tooth Fairy is clearly a bit of an overachiever. The coin Lavinia received was massive, practically the size of her face, and it came with a handwritten thank-you note too.

To protect her fairy identity, the Tooth Fairy wrote the note with her left hand. She was quite pleased with the result, and frankly, it turned out far neater than expected for someone writing with their non-dominant hand.

The tooth loss story

In the days leading up to the big moment, Lavinia kept asking me to help take the tooth out. I gently refused, explaining that it had to be her. Not because I couldn’t do it, but because I knew she needed to be in charge of when and how. If I pulled it, I’d never know exactly how much pain she was in. But she would. She could stop when it was too much, and try again when she was ready.

I also knew how easily something like this could spiral into panic. I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks, and allergic reactions that feel just like them, so I’ve learned how to recognise the early signs and defuse them before they take over. I watched Lavinia closely, coached her through the nerves, and stayed present.

And then, one night, during her pre-bedtime shower, it happened. She pulled it out herself. There was a second where it all got overwhelming and almost escalated into full-on panic. But she made it through. That tiny tooth was finally out.

Her face was a mix of shock, pride, and absolute relief. And later, pure delight at the reward left under her pillow by her now-favourite fairy.

It’s just a tooth. But it’s also not. It’s the first in a long series of growing-up milestones — bittersweet, brave, and unforgettable.

Well, at least now she will remember it.