avocado toast with egg, tomato and herbed boursin

Have you ever felt like the worst person in the world? That claim took on a whole new meaning for me this past weekend. I really did feel like the worst person ever.

The most horrible mother ever.

And in an attempt to self-soothe and salvage, I talked. And talked. And talked so much that I fear I may have made the situation worse.

This weekend, my daughter and I got into a pretty serious discussion about life and the world around us. About people and animals and living things. So when she asked me about the tooth fairy, I matter- of- factly told her the tooth fairy didn’t exist. She stood very still and looked at me. Her eyes welled with tears and her bottom lip quivered.

You lied to me. Now I’ll never believe in fairytales!

I sat there, astonished by her reaction. I really thought the conversation was going in that direction. That it was naturally unfolding and all she really needed was validation. I thought deep down she knew, but just needed to hear the words.

It wasn’t the right time mommy.

My goodness. It wasn’t was it?

And now she didn’t believe in fairytales. Maybe she didn't even believe in me.

Had I robbed her of a small piece of her childhood? I know we’re talking about the tooth fairy but on a deeper level, I think it’s so much more than that.

She has such a strong spirit, filled with wonder and amazement. And more than anything, she is a believer. In all things good and pure and magical. She is in constant awe at the world around her- rainbows and stars and sunsets. Music and art and human interaction. She appears strong on the surface, but deep down she is sensitive and insightful and incredibly observant. I asked her not to tell her younger brother, as he is only six years old and it wouldn’t be fair to take that away from him.

I'd never do that to Nikolas mommy. I'd never break his heart that way.

That's how she saw me.

A breaker of hearts. A ruthless professor of truth. A merciless crusher of dreams.

I robbed her of something grand - the distinct belief that fairytales, in their youthful and innocent form, really exist. For her, the world is breathtaking and inspiring and enchanting. And I know she’ll  draw her own conclusions when she's ready, but she was right. It wasn't the right time. I feel guilty for rushing her into a space she wasn’t prepared for yet. 

I told her about the time I lost my first tooth. A little boy named Samuel went home at lunch and brought me a small pale green, satin pillow with French lace. It had a little pocket for my tooth and a little scrolled letter for the tooth fairy. It was indeed magical. And completely captivating. And it filled me with this incredible feeling, this excitement I can’t accurately describe.

I told her that believing in these things is part of being young. That parents tell these stories in an attempt to preserve the virtue of childhood. And there is in fact a distinct difference between malicious lying, and a quest for safeguarding and perhaps on some level, extending the innocence of youth. I’m not sure she sees it that way. Not yet.

But maybe some day, she'll find herself telling her own children that a tiny fairy, with glistening wings and a toothy grin visits them at night. And she tiptoes and sprinkles fairy dust on their little noses as they sleep. She dances and twirls and waves her miniature wand, singing soft, beautiful lullabies. And then, after she has finished her sacred dance, she quietly flies away with a small satin purse filled with baby teeth. She leaves a little token of her visit. A shiny coin. A little note. But mostly, she leaves a sense of marvel and an awe-inspiring belief that the world is truly a magical place.

One day my daughter will understand these things. Of that I am certain.

Before our discussion was finished she looked me straight in the eyes.

And don’t tell me Santa isn’t real. I wouldn’t believe you anyway but please? Please don’t say it.

I looked at her. She seemed so little at that moment. I wrapped my arms around her and buried myself in her arms.

You can’t lose the tooth fairy and Santa Claus on the same day.

I totally get it.

I really do.

 

Comments

[Dominique Roy]

The same conversation happened between my mum and I... not sure at what age. The discussion of "lying". My mum told me that she had never lied to me, except one, one big one, and asked if I wanted to know the truth. When she told me that Santa Clause wasN,t real, I had the same reaction as your daughter. I still remember the day. My heart broke. I cried and cried, and said "Mummy, don't you think I was too young to know the truth!!"

Dom