It was just a regular Sunday here. I did some laundry, stripped the beds, made a grocery list and took Ave with me to the store. As usual, the final tally was double what I intended, both in cost and time. I shrugged it off because I was having great one-on-one time with Ave and despite taking a long time I was going to be done with the tedium of Sunday chores before 3pm, which never happens.

We were walking up the stairs and Sean called to me, “Did you get my text?” I had not and my shoulders slumped imagining that I was going to need to head back out for some very important something or other.

I was wrong.

The very important something or other was of a completely different variety. Finley, our perfect, completed-our-family exclamation point (when I’m happy) and my last baby (when I’m maudlin) had lost her first tooth.

I missed it.

She never said it was loose. Never mused about when she might lose her first tooth. The story goes, she walked quietly into the bathroom, came out with a slightly bloodied towel and said, “Sorry, I had no idea this was coming, but, there it is, I lost my first tooth.”

The thing about Fin, even though I missed it, she made me feel glad that it happened. She is infectious and wondrous and in fact, on any day, she an exclamation point to a grand finale.