Yeterday at 9am sharp Ava had her teeth cleaned. While all was going well for me in the waiting room finding out why Heather Locklear is ditching Ritchie Sambora, Ava was enduring the dreaded pointy metal thing-a-ma-bob scraping and poking her teeth. To everyone's chagrin...it stuck to a molar indicating..dum..dum..dum...cavity.
Honestly I think the dentist, a strange wiley little woman was the most surprised and disappointed. Since I have experienced no less than 3 verbal lashings from this impish dentist in the past about the proper care and feeding of my daughter's pearly whites I pretty much took it in stride. She first rattled me up with gloom and doom back in early 2004.
Look, I don't know thing one about her prenatal care. I couldn't even venture to guess if there is a Chinese biological family out there somewhere with crummy teeth genes. And, of course there is that little matter of candy fest 2003-2006 fully supported by the Muffin Man, aka....her supplier. I have gently suggested that dessert and candy is not necessary every day. I have been met with the proverbial talk to the hand in the face about the matter and one little grinning kid with red gum drop juice falling down the side of her mouth. Thus, my lack of astonishment at our predicament.
So, at 8:20am this morning I arrived back at the impish dentist's office with a sorry little soul who had absolutely no idea what the next hour would entail. We were met at the door by impish dentist exclaiming "Well hello tall girl and tiny patient." I sneered and ran for another copy of People magazine crack. Paris is turning 25 without her Greek bizillionaire boy toy you know.
For the next hour I tried unsuccessfully to determine if the screaming coming through the walls was from my child. But because there was a steady stream of children flowing through the pediatric dental office...who really knew. I contemplated busting through the door to make sure some sort of mandibular torture was not being inflicted on my baby. But then opted for popping a suggestion of better insulation in the walls into the suggestion box.
Just as I was about to find out why Jodie Sweetin from Full House was addicted to crystal meth the nurse popped out and called my name.
There she was, a pint sized swaggering little drunken sailor swaying back and forth. Eyes slightly tipped, mouth a little red and swollen and a piece of cotton that looked remarkable like a cigarette hanging from her clenched jaw. I let out a nervous laugh. "Is she alright?" "Oh yes, model patient." the nurse proclaimed "It will just take a few minutes for the nitrous to wear off." Yeah, ya think?
She's a trooper. She decided to march herself right off to preschool after I told her she could take her new secret decoder ring to show the kids. She said she will expect me to help administer her new tatoo immediately after preschool.
Yup, further proof she's my little clean toothed, swaggering, tattoo bearing sailor.