Teething Problems
My husband's in New York right now. In a way it's easier when he's away when I'm feeling down, because I just have to worry about keeping myself and the kids on track, and I don't worry about him worrying about me. I was surprised how easy it was to wake up yesterday when I spent most of the Christmas holidays reading and/or coughing all night and sleeping in to an outrageous extent (on the plus side, sleeping for 16 hours gave me a couple less hours to eat). I got up before the alarm, went in and cuddled the kids for half an hour or so (Eve sleeps on the futon in Angus's room whenever he lets her, which is quite often), got them to school, went to the gym, came home and cleaned up Christmas decorations, stared bleakly at the wall for a bit, got Eve at the bus, did homework, took the kids to piano, did baths and tucking in and then didn't take a sleeping pill because I'd gone to bed late and gotten up early so falling asleep should be pretty easy, right? RIGHT?
I'm a moron.
This morning, after my delicious and refreshing fourteen minutes of sleep, my Dad picked up Angus so I could take Eve to the dentist for eight o'clock. I wasn't all that worried -- Angus has had a pretty hardcore dentist phobia since birth, and even the tilting back of the chair generates severe and vocal unhappiness, but Eve has taken the whole deal pretty much in stride. Of course, this was a little more than a routine cleaning and check-up. This was the removal of a grievously infected tooth, which was of course going to necessitate a....needle...in her mouth...
I'm a moron.
I never really considered the pounds of force that might be required for an average-sized six-year-old to hold her jaws shut for an undetermined period of time. I never really considered that, if a kid really really doesn't want to open her mouth, there's not a whole hell of a lot you can do to make them. I also didn't really feel comfortable promising her McDonald's, ice cream and a pony right in front of the dentist (even though she probably would have been on board. In fact, she was probably thinking 'come on Mom, get with the bribery, I don't have all freaking day!')
In all honesty, it wasn't that bad for that long. My heart broke a tiny bit, as it always does, when she said "I just can't do it", just like she always does at flu shot time, and then gave me that look of complete disbelieving betrayal when she realized that (seriously?) I was actually going to make her do it.
She livened up the whole process in true Eve fashion, of course, chattering blithely away to the dentist and the assistant even while her jaws were wide open ("I'n gonna get vraces? Heriously?") and having a little Hunter Thompson moment while the anesthetic took effect ("This feels weird. Bleah. Bleah. My tongue feels weird. Fat. Fat. Fat. My lip feels fat but I can't say fat properly because my lip is...FAT! Blblblblb...my tongue feels sort of....OH, so THIS is what numb means.") And all was forgiven when they gave her her holey tooth in a tiny little treasure chest.
I thought she was going to go to school after. I had her backpack and lunch and snowpants in the truck with us.
I'm a moron.
I looked at her, all swollen and bleeding and post-traumatic. Then I thought maybe both of us should come home for a nap. Until April.
I'm a moron.
This morning, after my delicious and refreshing fourteen minutes of sleep, my Dad picked up Angus so I could take Eve to the dentist for eight o'clock. I wasn't all that worried -- Angus has had a pretty hardcore dentist phobia since birth, and even the tilting back of the chair generates severe and vocal unhappiness, but Eve has taken the whole deal pretty much in stride. Of course, this was a little more than a routine cleaning and check-up. This was the removal of a grievously infected tooth, which was of course going to necessitate a....needle...in her mouth...
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I never really considered the pounds of force that might be required for an average-sized six-year-old to hold her jaws shut for an undetermined period of time. I never really considered that, if a kid really really doesn't want to open her mouth, there's not a whole hell of a lot you can do to make them. I also didn't really feel comfortable promising her McDonald's, ice cream and a pony right in front of the dentist (even though she probably would have been on board. In fact, she was probably thinking 'come on Mom, get with the bribery, I don't have all freaking day!')
In all honesty, it wasn't that bad for that long. My heart broke a tiny bit, as it always does, when she said "I just can't do it", just like she always does at flu shot time, and then gave me that look of complete disbelieving betrayal when she realized that (seriously?) I was actually going to make her do it.
She livened up the whole process in true Eve fashion, of course, chattering blithely away to the dentist and the assistant even while her jaws were wide open ("I'n gonna get vraces? Heriously?") and having a little Hunter Thompson moment while the anesthetic took effect ("This feels weird. Bleah. Bleah. My tongue feels weird. Fat. Fat. Fat. My lip feels fat but I can't say fat properly because my lip is...FAT! Blblblblb...my tongue feels sort of....OH, so THIS is what numb means.") And all was forgiven when they gave her her holey tooth in a tiny little treasure chest.
I thought she was going to go to school after. I had her backpack and lunch and snowpants in the truck with us.
I'm a moron.
I looked at her, all swollen and bleeding and post-traumatic. Then I thought maybe both of us should come home for a nap. Until April.
Comments
In the summer Hana went to the dentist for a filling and ended up throwing up. Three times! Ohmygod, you know those little paper bibs they use at the dentists don't hold up all that well against vomit.
And yet, Hana still says she wants to be a dentist. Weird.
My daughter is not yet three, we have this battle to face yet. I'm afraid, poor thing, that she may have my good (?) British teeth.
I hope that tomorrow is a better day.