Did you know that not everyone can pick things up with their toes? I did not. I did not realize that it is an actual genetic trait, like whether or not a person can curl their tongue, and possessing of an official anatomical name and medical definition.

I guess the fact that  having extra teeth has a name (supernumerary) and definition should have tipped me off.

Strangely (as if there is another way) I discovered this in a book having nothing to do with anatomy. I was reading Robert Leckie’s Helmet for My Pillow. He comes across a footprint, while in Melanesia, and describes it as somewhat small, with prehensile toes, native feet.

What!? So I searched the net for prehensile feet and found two different types, each having two varieties. And drawings and pictures too. Clearly I never studied podiatry. Apparently, the toes of a prehensile foot are slightly wider spaced from big toe to the next toe. And sometimes the big toe is the same height, or much shorter than the next one. If you have feet that slant artfully down from the big toe, those are pretty but unable to pick up socks.

Being the freak that I am, laughing, I immediately called an auntie and asked if she could pick things up with her feet. She said, “Of course, I can sort laundry with them. Why do you ask?”

I told her about the book, and quick internet research. And all the while we are laughing about what bizarre human specimens our family has produced.  Who knew that we had special feet?

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• My Helmet for My Pillow Book

Smiling with Loose Teeth

When DD got a loose tooth, I mentioned it to DH, in the form of, hmmm, wonder if there are extra teeth in there. He said, “What, like a shark?!”

No, not like a shark. I didn’t bust one eating some other creature and then grow more. Just a random genetic phenomenon, like curly hair.

The dentist summoned me over to look at DD’s loose tooth. Which I have seen. He says we can expect it and the one next to it – which is also being pushed out – to come in crowded, but straighten up over time. How much they will straighten depends on how much her jaw grows. I told him I had extra teeth as a child. Did he see any extras in there?

He gave me that fascinated look that medical people give me when they realize they have discovered someone genetically bizarre, but not dangerous. And in this case even better, not his problem. He said no, and showed me her ex-ray. See, no extra teeth in there. He shamelessly leaned toward me and stared at my teeth.

Nothing to see there. I told him that the extra teeth were no trouble. It was a surprise when the thought-to-be permanent teeth fell out. Then these additional teeth appeared. And underneath were totally normal adult teeth.

We looked at DD’s ex-ray again. I said I was pleased not to pass on the weird gene. He said, ah yes, good job. But for good measure he looked at my teeth again in an obvious manner and back again at DD’s, both of us smiling. Me because I was entertained by his fascination with my dental weirdness. Her because everybody else was smiling. And the hygienist had just given her a princess toothbrush.

Beyond the obvious practicality, asking the dentist about the extra teeth is a good party trick. Like using the grandma voice. It brings humor into a space that wasn’t funny a moment ago. And in this case, the pediatric dentist, if he’s bored, will get to wonder in Gregory House style if something else is secretly wrong with me, if it is a genetic or chemical phenomenon, or from what scarce ethnic group I might hail which is not obvious.

And no, I didn’t just imagine that from watching House. I’ve actually worked in hospitals. And some of the doctors are really that curious. Usually the ones who don’t mind leaning over your five year old to stare at your teeth in a completely unashamed manner.

It’s good to be almost forty. I embrace my strangeness. Or uniqueness. Whatever.

Related posts:

• Prehensile Toes