Me, Squeamish?

Olivia came home from school today proudly displaying her first loose tooth.  She wiggled it with her tongue, then she wiggled it with her finger.  And I almost got sick.

I've cleaned and bandaged enough bloodied-up knees to start my own neighborhood triage unit.  When Brigham had a tracheostomy, I could suction all of the goobers out of his lungs.  And I could change out the trach tube.  I'm not talking about the inner cannula, although I did that, too.  I'm talking about pulling the whole thing out of his neck and putting a new one in the hole.  I'm not going to lie--it was freaky--and kind of gross, but I could do it.  So why is it, then, that I can't watch Olivia wiggling her loose tooth without feeling like my legs are turning to jello?

I couldn't even watch her wiggle it while I was taking this picture.  I closed my eyes.  What has happened to me?  Perhaps, after all these years, my brothers' squeamishness is rubbing off on me.