9:09pm, feet on the stairs. A serious voice, "Mama, I need to tell you something."
"Ok," I call and with my verbal permission, Ross appears fully downstairs.
"I was in my bed and I heard something 'pop'. I went to the bathroom and, apparently, my tooth came out." He extends a palm showing the apparent tooth and gives a not-so-toothy grin. This is the fourth tooth he's yanked out in the hour or two after bedtime.
"What made it apparent that your tooth came out?"
"Mama," he giggles, "It's here in my hand!" How will he stave off bedtime when he runs out of baby teeth?