A New Tooth

Two days after my 37th birthday, a new tooth broke through my gum line. Three months earlier I’d had dental X-rays taken. The dentist said – with an uncanny sense of certainty – there was absolutely no chance I’d be getting any new teeth.

Challenge accepted.

At first I thought it was a stray piece of popcorn or the husk of an oat. Neither of which I'd eaten. But it soon became apparent that it was indeed a wisdom tooth.

I didn’t really think it had any right to be there. Not now.

But maybe there’s an outside chance it will be auspicious?

So far, no dice.

A month after I gave birth to my now three year old, I noticed something was happening to my hair. It wasn’t falling out in handfuls like all the pregnancy manuals had cautioned. That was still to come, of course. But before that, a bright silver-grey streak appeared in my hair like the trail of a comet in the night sky.

Much later – on one of only a handful of trips to the hairdresser I’ve managed to carve out since having a kid – she explained how these grey streaks show up in hair when someone has gone through a traumatic event.

That tracks, I thought.