Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Daddy's Handling the Dentist

In my supreme-momness, I have learned that there are a few things that one should (or should not) do during special mommy moments.  Apparently, 7-year-old humans are easily traumatized.  Or so I was told as Jason elbowed me in the kidney and told me, “What the hell is wrong with you?  You can’t say that!”

But here’s the thing, sometimes I just react.  I mean, we’re all human, right?  I’ve practiced reacting to boo-boos, and I can maintain a fairly impassive face when dealing with any manner of hangnail, goose egg, or stubbed toe.  I totally GOT this.  No problem.  Bloody nose?  I am the woman with the endless supply of tissues.  Snot stream?  Ditto…Gots me some tissues.

However…

(And this is a big ‘however’)

When one of my little hug-a-bears shows up while I’m peacefully watching an episode of Breaking Bad and sipping a glass of red wine in a sippy cup with a straw and says, “My mouth hurts,” and then proceeds to open his mouth and show me 6 layers of teeth all impacted and swollen and growing into the space where his tongue is supposed to be, I might have a bit of a problem controlling my startled blurting response.

And so I might have gulped in the drink of wine I had in my mouth and said something along the lines of “Crap, shit the hell?!  Oh my God, HONEY LOOK AT THIS!!!”

Which, pffft…who would have guessed it?  Apparently, it startled the little hug-a-bear, who started to sniffle because he MAYBE thought by my reaction that his face was falling off or he was turning into a shark with a gazillion rows of teeth.  Which is exactly when Jason stabbed his elbow into my kidney and informed me that I COULDN’T SAY what I had JUST said.

Enter damage control.

“What Mommy means,” Jason gritted through is teeth, smiling all the while for the munchkin’s benefit, “is that we’re going to have some Tylenol and let the dentist look at your tooth tomorrow, right Mommy?”  And then he glared at me.  The munchkin looked to me for confirmation.

“Of course that’s what Mommy means!” I concurred, way too happily.  “We’ll go to the dentist first thing.  There’s nothing wrong at all.  We’ll just have some Tylenol.  No problem.”  Jason was still glaring at me, by the way.

And after the kiddo was reassured that his face was not, in fact, falling off AND he was not morphing into a shark, we sent him upstairs to rest and sink into a Tylenol haze until we could see the dentist in the morning.

“REALLY?” demanded Jason.

“But did you even see his teeth?  They are growing out of the roof of his mouth, dude!  It startled me.  It was a startle response.  Totally legit.”

Rolling eyes.  “Drink your wine, Honey.  Maybe I should handle the dentist.”


“Hmmm, probably.”

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