The tooth fairy in my house is me. Shocking, I know. She's also the Easter Bunny, the lunch lady, the homework helpline. But the tooth fairy job is the one that keeps me up at night — literally.
Because nobody tells you the tooth fairy works the night shift with zero notice. A kid announces at 8:47 PM, while you're already in your pajamas, 'Mom, my tooth is REALLY wiggly' — and then, two hours later, after you've forgotten entirely, there's a tiny tooth under a pillow and a child who believes in magic and a mother who believes in panic.
So there I am, midnight, flashlight in my teeth, fishing under a pillow like I'm defusing a bomb, trying not to wake the kid, trying to write a note in handwriting that is definitely not mine. The tooth fairy, apparently, writes in sparkly gel pen and dots her i's with stars. I do not dot anything with stars at 12:30 AM.
One night I forgot completely. Morning comes, the pillow is empty, and a small face looks up at me like the magic just filed for bankruptcy. So I blamed fairy traffic. A backup over the neighbourhood, honey. Too many teeth, not enough wings. She bought it. Kids are the best audience you'll ever have — they WANT to believe.
Here's what I've learned from running a one-woman magical creature agency on no sleep: the magic isn't the coin. It's that they believe someone is watching over them in the night. That someone cares about the small stuff — a tooth, a wiggly milestone nobody else would mark.
And my payoff? Once they're all finally asleep — teeth collected, notes forged, wings metaphorically hung up — I step out onto the porch, wrap up warm, and take my little exhale. Mommy's magic flowers, a quiet minute, and the whole sleeping house to myself. The fairy gets her break too.
Fellow fairies: what's your best save when you forgot the tooth, the bunny, or the elf? Confess below — the fairy union protects its own.
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