This One Has A Soundtrack

So, Murph is a bit of a major blood phobe. I guess my med-school dreams are lost on him. It's too bad for him, too, because I really had myself backed into a corner the other night when I told him I'd get him a puppy if he let me pull his dangly tooth. I never said I was normal, okay? So you can wipe that look off your face.

I was at his complete mercy, though, because I would have been in SO MUCH TROUBLE with Brent for promising a LIVE ANIMAL as he's typically the one who ends up with pet duties - just by default. He's who wants the dog to point, retrieve, and ya know... obey. But lucky for me, it only barely tempted Murph. The idea of blood at all was just way too powerful.

But I DON'T GET IT! Why is he not even tempted one bit to wiggle the hell out of it himself? I'm a picker. I'm a puller. I yank. I tweeze. I shave. I trim. I wrangle. I floss. If I were ever in one of these

I would figure out a way to use my teeth, inevitably and definitely needing one of these around my neck.

More than the blood phobia, I probably need to worry more about why in the world I don't seem to be able to just let it go - let the dangly tooth fall out in his sleep or on a deep breath because that's how far he'll go to save himself from the risk of blood. I don't know why it drives me INSANE. And I'm the resident physchologist, so you'd think I'd be able to figure it out. But also being the resident dentist, esthetician, barber, chef, baby-toenail-polisher, bather, dish-doer, bus-boy, tidier, lactation consultant (ie *her pretty much) - it just ends up being a total conflict of interest. However. She would put away her laundry. Maybe this is the problem. I'll go put some away and see if it helps.

*a reference I realize I've made before. But, I mean I bet Lynda Carter puts her laundry away...