Petunia and Dash visited our new dentist today. Petunia was shocked that she has a cavity in between two tightly-packed baby teeth; it is going to be filled on Friday, because it is in one of those teeth that you don't lose until you're 12. It's a huge bummer; she is a great brusher and flosser according to the dentist, but this cavity is so wedged in there that it was virtually inevitable.
That aside, the even bigger shocker was that the dentist recommended consulting an orthodontist about the crowding in Petunia's mouth. Apparently, the "new" thinking (new since my day, anyway) is that kids with crowding or other orthodontic issues should have braces for about 18 months at this age, and that dental work might preclude the need for braces later on -- or might at least shorten the duration in those teen years. Here's how our conversation, post-dentist, went:
Petunia: Mama, what was that dentist girl saying about needing to see about orthodontia?
Mama: Well, she thinks that it might be advisable for you to have braces sooner rather than later because of the crowding in your lower teeth.
Petunia (sighing): The crowding that gave me this cavity that I now have to have filled?
Mama: Yes, I think so,
Petunia (super-serious): I do not want braces. (dramatic pause) Braces will look cheap on me.
Mama: What huh?
Petunia: Seriously, mama, they're not good. They don't "go" [and she even inserted air quotes!] with me.
Mama (stiffling a laugh): Well, would you rather have them as a teenager?
Petunia: MAMA! [hands on hips, walking stopped] Do you know how serious I am? I WOULD RATHER EAT SPINACH THAN HAVE BRACES.
Mama: Wow. I mean, WOW. We'll have to talk to Daddy about this problem, and, in the meanwhile, we are scheduling a consultation. (cutting off protest from Petunia) Just to get information!
Petunia: Alright, but I'm just saying, it's not cool.
[Mama: OH MY G-D, SHE'S ONLY 8, I'M GOING TO NEED SOME SERIOUS MEDICATION TO GET THROUGH THE NEXT TEN YEARS....!!!!!]
*****
Meanwhile, Dash was mortified by the hygenist touching his sister's teeth with "some buzzing thing" in the dentist's office. He didn't act up or anything; he just whispered to me that he wanted "that lady" to stop it. I wasn't sure what to expect when it was his turn in the chair.
Imagine my surprise when he climbed into the chair by himself, looked me square in the eye, and said: "I'm a big man. I can do this." I confess that I almost cried. He is almost 4 I guess... but something tells me that this steely resolve is quite atypical for his age. I hope he keeps it, because I envy it; I am pretty strong, but not half as much as him!
*****
Flashback to a week ago, when Dash was sitting in the dermatology office with me as I had a mole, and some surrounding tissue, excised. (My brother is a melanoma survivor; I don't screw around with funky moles.) I looked over at him as the doctor was numbing my arm, and I wondered if perhaps it was a bad idea to get this done with him sitting right there. His sweet little deep brown eyes met mine, with a gaze that was neither sad nor scared -- just steady. It was like he was telling me, "It's alright, and I'm right here if you need me." I have never had stitches before, and I'm sporting four right now. I almost cried as I was getting stitched, as the sensation is rather unpleasant -- but instead, I looked at my boy, sitting there with his hands folded in his lap, and I drew strength from him.
You know, sometimes I think that I've spent almost nine years holding children; and other times, I realize that as much as I've held them, they've held me, too.
When I got up from the chair, stitches and all, I thanked my Dash for sitting so nicely while the doctor was working on my arm. He said, "It's okay, Mama, you're all better now," and he took my hand, and we walked out of the door together. He is a big man, indeed.
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