Once upon a time I made the fateful decision to attempt a dental check up. This decision will more than likely cost me at least 3 more years of therapy bills. For me, not her, after that performance kid clearly has a future in acting. She can pay for her own therapy. Join me for this little adventure friends. A good time was not had by anyone.
*I would like to preface this by saying this is NOT a slam against the dentist or dental workers who were very, very nice. When life gives you lemons you cannot use them to construct a 3 story condominium. You can however use these lemons to clean and disinfect the tears, and the remains of my 3 year old daughters bladder which have both been shed on their once clean floor. And the boogers. Because shrieking also produces boogers.
There have been many times I've looked like an idiot. There have been many times my kids have melted down and caused strangers to question whether I was related to Jerry Springer. There have been many times I have slowly taken two steps back from my children and glanced pointedly at whatever other adult was the closest so as to make it appear they were the owner of said child.
Yeah, that kid screaming her head off. Not mine. Not it. Do not claim. Do not pass go. But girl, collect the $200.00 and RUN.
Today I pretended to be responsible and attempted to take my 3 year old to the dentist. It was a short lived trip that ended in me requesting laughing gas and a prescription for pain relievers. I may not have been physically injured but I have pain. I have pain in my heart, pain in my head, and pain in my shins from a vicious toddler kick.
It began innocently enough. Meara knew we were on to big things because I put a bra on. I dusted off my finest pair of stretchy pants and busted out my dry shampoo. These 2 girls were about to hit the town: or about to head a block away in our minivan headed for despair with a side dose of betrayal, either way.
The waiting room went well enough. I filled out paperwork incorrectly. Meara complimented me on my pink pen. It was blue. This was clearly the foreshadowing of future events, but when you're about to be hit by the freight train that is a full blown toddler melt down it's best to be ignorant.
Then the fateful words were said: Meara, it's your turn. Turn for what you ask? A simple dental check up, or your turn to travel into the depraved depths of hell?
B. THE ANSWER IS B.
We made it through the door. I let out a sigh. Maybe this won't be so bad I thought to myself. Look at me adulting my small child, I thought to myself. Look at our matching boots, how cute are we, I thought to myself.
Cue the beginnings of inhuman screams. I repeat inhuman shrieks.
So, at this point I begin nervously laughing. And sweating. A lot. The dental hygentist were extremely nice. They tried to calm her nerves, give her toys, talked patiently to her. But listen when you're facing down death, a stuffed teddy bear is no consolation prize. I didn't raise a fool. Just someone who acts like it.
At this point I'm dragging her limp and lifeless body down the hall. She's basically at deaths door. Her only functioning organ is her lungs, which she is using to screech NOOOOOOO. We make it to the x ray room.
Cue what can only be compared to as the apocalypse.
My nervous laughter has turned to pants and avoiding direct eye contact, which is mutual. No one wants to be a part of our current train wreck.
At this point the very nice dentist pokes his head out the door. Meara has now gone into convulsions. Mamas I'm CPR trained but I was too busy eying the laughing gas to adequately remember the steps. Not to mention due to the gasping of breath, I may have needed to start with the Heimlich. Clearly she had an airway obstruction. (Upon further inspection the only obstruction she had was a fierce sense of betrayal in her broken heart.)
The very nice dentist suggests we try again in 6 months. We make eye contact for .03 seconds before my crazy mama stare makes him uncomfortable and he has to glance away.
I glance down at my first born. She seems to be in a death roll with an unseen attacker.
I laugh nervously, sweat drips down my nose. Or tears. Maybe both.
We very slowly, lets's be honest here for a minute, we both run to the door. It was a very short jog since we had only made it 5 feet into the exam area before the Dr ever so kindly suggested we come back another day.
As we reach the waiting room, I draw my courage and look up. Cue the crickets and horrified stares of all the other waiting patients. Meara kindly looks at the closest waiting patient and wisely advises "don't do it"
Um yeah don't do it. It will end in tears and broken dreams. It will end in embarrassment and wet pants. It will end in a CPS visit and rotting teeth.
It will not end well.
Love and light from another mom in the struggle.
Is it beer:30?!
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