When I was in Kindergarten, my teacher had one entire bulletin board dedicated to teeth. Every time someone lost a tooth, we'd get a laminated tooth cut out with our name on it on the board. I was sort of an early tooth-loser, so my name was splattered all over that board right from the beginning of the year. Trust me, no one wants to be that braggy girl with all the missing teeth.
On a non-toothy but related note, my teacher also had a racetrack numbered 1-100 along the top of the wall, and we each had a labeled car she'd move along the racetrack based on how high we could count. Since I got all sorts of attention from adults at home (oldest child, you know) and no TV to distract me (Bug may not ever learn to count correctly, but she can sing the entire Doc McStuffins theme song, so, tradeoffs...) I could count to 100 before Kindergarten. If there's one thing that tooth board taught me, though, it's that no one likes an overachiever. I think my teacher may have been a bit suspicious of my social strategy when I abruptly stopped counting ("...fifty-five, fifty-six, I don't know anymore. Really.") but she obliged and my car stayed right in line with the pack. MEDIOCRITY IN THE NAME OF CONFORMITY. YES.
So anyway. Teeth.
Bug had, I don't know, like a million teeth by the time she was 9 months old. In the fine tradition of his father's family, Mister Baggins can't be bothered to waste time he could otherwise spend being adorable growing teeth.
His daddy calls him his little chimuelo.
If he was any more scrumptious, he'd probably give me hives or something.
Daddy likes the floppy hair. I wasn't too sure until I saw that little glowing halo around his ear, which is pretty hilarious. What do you think? Cut, or floppy for Christmas?