Know what really sucks?
When you spend the day writing a fairly fantastic post about your stupendously superb weekend and figure you'll finish it right after Spawnling's surprise dental visit at 5pm (there was a cancellation and they called this morning), and then you find out that your child's teeth are too far gone to be saved and they will have to pull all three of the remaining top front ones.
Yes. I said all three.
I told you it sucked.
My child is going Deliverance style. Wasn't I just making fun of Deliverance and having a purdy mouth and all that? Is this some kind of karmic joke? Now I'll have to buy him a banjo and some slacks with suspenders. We'll need to move to a log cabin, join a militia and raise our own turkeys and pigs for the slaughter. This is how these situations work. It's practically a law.
And we're peace-loving vegetarians, damn it.
On Saturday April 25th, my poor little Spawnling will go under general anesthetic and have three teeth pulled, two filled and sealed, his mouth flourided and polished. He will wake up sore and confused and I will feel like a very, very shitty mom.
Oh, wait. I already do. I suppose that will simply be a continuation of the feeling coupled with copious amounts of empathy for my baby.
You know that little nagging feeling I had about my dentist not picking up on the decay like he should have? I should have listened to that voice about six months ago instead of waiting and waiting and guessing hearing voices in my head simply meant I should drink less coffee.
I'm also trying not to have murderous feelings toward my dentist. I know everyone makes mistakes. Sesame Street taught me that. However, they were referring to spilled milk and not the loss of four top teeth.
Just sayin'.
There's no point in being mad, I suppose. With that in mind, I suppose having several crying jags on the way home was also pointless. The pattern was sort of like this:
I'm fine. He's fine. It could be worse. He could have leukemia.
Oh my God. Did I just use the "He could have leukemia" card? What the hell is the matter with me? Kids get cancer and it's nobody's fault. Spawnling's teeth are rotting out because I feed him peanut butter cups while watching Arthur. Leukemia. You're such a jerkface, Maven.
*crying jag*
No, I'm not a jerk. I'm a distraught mom, that's all. This is a big deal. My child is going to have dental surgery. My child is going to have no front teeth. How is he going to talk? Is he going to sound so weird that none of the other kids will play with him and he'll be at home feeling lonely and doing puzzles with mom and dad until he's seven? Will he look like we don't love him and take care of him? Will someone call the authorities?
Oh. My. God. Did I just make this all about me? Seriously? All I can think about is how I'm going to look to the rest of the world when my child is losing his rotten teeth? I'm such a selfish bitch of a mom!
*crying jag and nose blowing*
Shut up, big meanie voice! You don't know what you're talking about. I'm a great mom. Or at the very least mediocre. I brush my kids' teeth! I make sure they get their calcium! I take them outside! And play games with them! And fix them nutritious snacks like apples and...
Oh. My. God. How is he going to eat an apple now? Is it considered a longterm disability if you have to cut up fruit for a child on account of being toothless for five years? A preventable disability, even. I ruined this poor boy. He should have had a better mother who loved him enough to floss. And... and... Corn on the cob is his favourite and he'll be without it for so long he'll forget what it tastes like! He's going to need therapy forever!
*crying so hard the person in the car next to me looks like he might put it in park and come hug me*
So, as you can see, this has not been a good evening. My mom called tonight just to make sure I'm okay. When I can talk about it without crying I'll be sure to call my in-laws and tell them, too. And maybe my friends - the ones who don't read my blog.
Are there any of those left? I think they all like to read my little trainwreck. Probably because I look so composed and together in real life and it makes them feel better about themselves.
Yes. That's it.
I suppose we might want to look on the bright side. All this angst he'll be feeling is the perfect fuel if he wants to front a punk band later (after his teeth come in and get knocked out again in a bar fight). I'm also slightly relieved that biting will prove more difficult. He's been doing a lot of that lately and it's soooo annoying.
I think it might have been over the line to celebrate the end of biting. Whatever. It's been a crap day and I'm grasping at the straws of positivity. Just smile and nod for me, alright?
Tomorrow I'll post about my awesome weekend, though. It was spectacular and I enjoyed every minute of it. I'll also post pictures of my incredibly sexy new hair. It loses some of its appeal when my make-up is smeared from sobbing all the way home, though. I'll make sure they're happy pictures from when I was blissfully unaware of what was coming today. Stupid life, throwing curveballs.
But I'm not bitter. Nope. Not at all.
When you spend the day writing a fairly fantastic post about your stupendously superb weekend and figure you'll finish it right after Spawnling's surprise dental visit at 5pm (there was a cancellation and they called this morning), and then you find out that your child's teeth are too far gone to be saved and they will have to pull all three of the remaining top front ones.
Yes. I said all three.
I told you it sucked.
My child is going Deliverance style. Wasn't I just making fun of Deliverance and having a purdy mouth and all that? Is this some kind of karmic joke? Now I'll have to buy him a banjo and some slacks with suspenders. We'll need to move to a log cabin, join a militia and raise our own turkeys and pigs for the slaughter. This is how these situations work. It's practically a law.
And we're peace-loving vegetarians, damn it.
On Saturday April 25th, my poor little Spawnling will go under general anesthetic and have three teeth pulled, two filled and sealed, his mouth flourided and polished. He will wake up sore and confused and I will feel like a very, very shitty mom.
Oh, wait. I already do. I suppose that will simply be a continuation of the feeling coupled with copious amounts of empathy for my baby.
You know that little nagging feeling I had about my dentist not picking up on the decay like he should have? I should have listened to that voice about six months ago instead of waiting and waiting and guessing hearing voices in my head simply meant I should drink less coffee.
I'm also trying not to have murderous feelings toward my dentist. I know everyone makes mistakes. Sesame Street taught me that. However, they were referring to spilled milk and not the loss of four top teeth.
Just sayin'.
There's no point in being mad, I suppose. With that in mind, I suppose having several crying jags on the way home was also pointless. The pattern was sort of like this:
I'm fine. He's fine. It could be worse. He could have leukemia.
Oh my God. Did I just use the "He could have leukemia" card? What the hell is the matter with me? Kids get cancer and it's nobody's fault. Spawnling's teeth are rotting out because I feed him peanut butter cups while watching Arthur. Leukemia. You're such a jerkface, Maven.
*crying jag*
No, I'm not a jerk. I'm a distraught mom, that's all. This is a big deal. My child is going to have dental surgery. My child is going to have no front teeth. How is he going to talk? Is he going to sound so weird that none of the other kids will play with him and he'll be at home feeling lonely and doing puzzles with mom and dad until he's seven? Will he look like we don't love him and take care of him? Will someone call the authorities?
Oh. My. God. Did I just make this all about me? Seriously? All I can think about is how I'm going to look to the rest of the world when my child is losing his rotten teeth? I'm such a selfish bitch of a mom!
*crying jag and nose blowing*
Shut up, big meanie voice! You don't know what you're talking about. I'm a great mom. Or at the very least mediocre. I brush my kids' teeth! I make sure they get their calcium! I take them outside! And play games with them! And fix them nutritious snacks like apples and...
Oh. My. God. How is he going to eat an apple now? Is it considered a longterm disability if you have to cut up fruit for a child on account of being toothless for five years? A preventable disability, even. I ruined this poor boy. He should have had a better mother who loved him enough to floss. And... and... Corn on the cob is his favourite and he'll be without it for so long he'll forget what it tastes like! He's going to need therapy forever!
*crying so hard the person in the car next to me looks like he might put it in park and come hug me*
So, as you can see, this has not been a good evening. My mom called tonight just to make sure I'm okay. When I can talk about it without crying I'll be sure to call my in-laws and tell them, too. And maybe my friends - the ones who don't read my blog.
Are there any of those left? I think they all like to read my little trainwreck. Probably because I look so composed and together in real life and it makes them feel better about themselves.
Yes. That's it.
I suppose we might want to look on the bright side. All this angst he'll be feeling is the perfect fuel if he wants to front a punk band later (after his teeth come in and get knocked out again in a bar fight). I'm also slightly relieved that biting will prove more difficult. He's been doing a lot of that lately and it's soooo annoying.
I think it might have been over the line to celebrate the end of biting. Whatever. It's been a crap day and I'm grasping at the straws of positivity. Just smile and nod for me, alright?
Tomorrow I'll post about my awesome weekend, though. It was spectacular and I enjoyed every minute of it. I'll also post pictures of my incredibly sexy new hair. It loses some of its appeal when my make-up is smeared from sobbing all the way home, though. I'll make sure they're happy pictures from when I was blissfully unaware of what was coming today. Stupid life, throwing curveballs.
But I'm not bitter. Nope. Not at all.
