Sebastian's second tooth came out. We oohed and aahed, got him excited about the Tooth Fairy, placed it under his pillow, and then promptly forgot to do the switch. You should have seen his fallen face the next morning, lone baby tooth in his outstretched hand. Somehow without coffee in my system my mind was surprisingly quick. I explained that the Tooth Fairy doesn't work full time, only Monday, Wednesday, Friday. "Put your tooth back under your pillow and I'm sure by tomorrow morning you'll have your money. Pancakes for breakfast?" That seemed to appease him. You better believe I wrote a pithy note to myself, "REMEMBER! TOOTH! ASSHOLE!"
Sebastian got two dollars from the Tooth Fairy. I decided this was enough because the first go around he promptly lost the money. I know friends who give their rugrats twenty bills! Isn't that a bit extreme? Especially in the economic crisis. I bet those parents will sing a different tune when they get their share of the bill for the octuplets' health care...
I have purposely stayed out of the Octuplet Mommy controversy. I remained silent when I found out she used $100,000 from an on-the-job back injury to pay for fertilization treatments, instead of taking care of the six children she already has, three of which have special needs. I didn't say a word when I found out she is still living with her parents in a four room house, and her very own mother on national television said she didn't know what her daughter was doing. But when I heard she didn't have a job or health insurance, my lips became unBenjamin buttoned.
Dear Octo Mommy. Fourteen children. Fourteen! All with specific needs and desires. They will want the Tooth Fairy to visit. And Santa Clause. And the Easter Bunny. They will want the occasional Hot Wheel and Hello Kitty barrette. They will want trips to the zoo. And the aquarium. And sunny days in the park. (Good God, your stroller will be a double wide, your diaper bag a steamer trunk.) They will crave gymnastics and ballet and soccer and karate and violin and theatre. They will want treats. Favorite books. Special costume pieces that don't smell like the Goodwill bin. They will want unending hugs and kisses and rolls around the floor, and silly time, and ATTENTION.
There is no way in hell they can get these simple things from you. And I'm not even talking about a larger place to live, or educational funds, or beds, or three squares, or heat, or waste removal. So, you can talk food stamps and Social Security and student loans and your mother's retirement checks and Medi-Cal all you like. But in the end I bet formula to Pull-ups that the good citizens of California end up paying for your children's Tooth Fairy.