He was braver than I was. By the time I managed to get the bleeding stopped he was calm and asking to watch a DVD whereas I was shaking like a leaf and dizzy. I didn't have his carseat so I called Littlestar out of work to come and give me a second opinion before going to camp out in the emergency room, but by that time the extent of the injury was plain and we knew that would be a waste of time. The teeth, despite their new angles, remained well-rooted and firm. The hole behind the incisor was not a gash, just the space opened up where the rear of the tooth had previously been seated.

Yam felt out the new configuration of his mouth with his tongue. "Toof stickine out," he reported. "I no like it."

He's getting used to it, though. I'm not. Every time I look at his precious little face I get a cold, windy feeling inside and want to sit down and be served a stiff drink. No ice.

He's going to visit our GP tomorrow to make sure there isn't any additional damage or a threat to his adult teeth, but it seems at this point we'll simply be advised to keep the wound clean until it heals over. For the time being we're rinsing it with salt water. Yam doesn't mind. He doesn't seem to be in any significant discomfort.

If you ask about his "funny tooth" he'll gladly explain. "I faw down, hitta bensh. Toof stickine out."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yeah."

"Does it hurt now?"

"No. Watsh Teletubby, pease?"

Kids bounce back fast. Me, less so. I still feel like crawling into a hole to quietly die. I hate it when my kids get broken. It's enough to want to keep them strapped down somewhere safe, with a sunlamp and some round-edged toys.

Gah.