So I took the kids to the dentist yesterday for their every-six-months checkup. This was Hannah’s first time to sit in the big chair. As we were getting out of the car, she was crying “I can’t wait! I can’t wait!”Silly girl.
I’ve never been a fan of dental work, having been through the somewhat typical woes of cavities, braces and wisdom teeth removal. But then in 2002 during a brief but brutal fender-bender collision in which I had neglected to put my seatbelt back on after hopping out of the truck for a quick errand, my front teeth connected with the dashboard of the truck. I knew it wasn’t good when I spit teeth pieces into my hand. The dashboard still bears the gouge-mark scars.
Fortunately, in spite of my hysterical fears over that horrible weekend, I didn’t have to go through the rest of my life looking like a toothless hillbilly, and my smile was good as new after over a year’s worth of temporary teeth, root canals, braces (ugh, again) and veneers. However, I came away not only with a brand new set of straight, white front teeth but also a healthy loathing for dental offices on general principal. Fighting a panic attack while in the chair for a teeth cleaning a year later, I told my unbelieving (and childless) hygienist that I would rather be lying on a table having another baby than sitting in her chair enduring the scraping and horrid electric whirring. Well, I meant it at the time.
Since then, I haven’t even had so much as a cavity (I’m a regular flosser now…got to take care of those expensive false teeth you know), and the panic of going every six months has faded. Plus I have to put on a good show for the kids when they go so they don’t develop my phobias by association. So when Hannah expressed her sheer excitement and joy at this new adventure, I heartily agreed with her. We were out and about having nothing but fun.
I’m just glad it was her turn.
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