Last night we tried something new. K and I have been brushing Reid's teeth with a little finger-covering piece of plastic with a fine brush-head. We squeeze a little clear "toothpaste" on the brush and play "don't bite me" with the 16 dazzling white teeth of our son.

Recently, K read about using a real brush, and having Reid help by putting his hand on the brush while you work it along his current and future teeth. There's a lot of talk about teaching your baby to brush, and we like this because right now, it hurts when he bites us. There is also a lot of talk about "future teeth," though Reid has plenty of "present teeth," so we don't need to worry about the future ones so much.

So the other day, K found a toothbrush for babies. It was designed with a longer handle so you can work it and your child can put his/her hand on the long end of the handle and understand the whole thing going on in the mouth there. Very smart.

I tried it last night. A little of the same so-called toothpaste (I think it's just a sweet-tasting bit of anti-gas medicine or something, to tell you the truth) on the new toothbrush, which is much more like a real grown-up toothbruth, and we're off.

At first, things are going swimmingly. Reid is attentive, wondering why, perhaps, our regular evening ritual of "bite the parent's finger" has been replaced with this much more businesslike arrangement. Then he gets into it, placing his hand, as the instructions indicate he should, on the long end of the brush to "feel" the brushing as it's happening.

Then we're done brushing out teeth. And I try to set the brush aside so we can go to sleep. That's when things go south.

Reid isn't done brushing. In fact, it appears he's angry and offended at the very idea that he was done brushing. He wants the toothbrush back and he's not going to take no for an answer. I return the bruth. He carefully inserts the bristled end in his mouth and happily brushes away. I'm amazed, boggled, and (of course) pleased with my spectacular son's development. One lesson! One lesson, and he's brushing his own teeth.

Minutes pass. The brushing devolves into sort of an absent-minded gum massage, or really teething, I guess. I'm carefully monitoring to ensure that Reid doesn't accidentally gag himself. I try several times to declare brushing-time over, to no avail. Every attempt to retrieve the brush ends in trauma and while normally we advocate a little toughness in this area, minutes before bedtime is not the moment to induce hysterical crying and red-faced peals of inconsolate shouting. I return the brush, and the tranquil, contemplative, tooth-brushing Reid returns.

I call K up to Reid's room to witness our genius son's toothbrushing skills gone-haywire. We're all laughing now, even Reid, though he has no idea why. K recommends just laying him down and waiting with him until the toothbrush is released. I'm nearly convinced of this after another ten minutes of oral noodling while bed-time fast recedes into memory.

Finally, Reid decides he's done. He hands me the toothbrush. He has been brushing for about a half-hour, though admittedly the final twenty minutes were mostly chewing on the thing and drooling. He rolls over in my lap, a sign he's ready to get into his crib. I rest him on the mattress, and grab the brush on the way out the door. I rinse the brush (it had quite a workout), and we decide maybe not to use it for a little while. Finger-biting not withstanding, there is such a thing as too much dental hygiene.