Today, Butter and I went to the dentist. It’s probably been two years since I’ve seen one, and he needed his first cleaning.
He did really well, too. I went first, so he got a sense of what the hygienist was going to do. He asked a few questions, but mostly he enjoyed playing his Jake & The Neverland Pirates game on my phone while I was subjected to x-rays and being told I have two new cavities and oh yeah, I also need two crowns. [Side note: I’ve never had as much dental work done as she is suggesting.]
This soooo isn’t a post about me, though.
First things first. Butter got to wear some awesome sunglasses so the light didn’t shine in his eyes while Miss Amanda used the Tooth Tickler on his teeth.
He enjoyed getting his teeth polished, and he picked out orange toothpaste for himself. But when she was counting his teeth, he kept talking about the tooth that is bothering him. I’ve known about it. I mentioned it to the nurse when we went to get his stitches out. I mentioned it to his doctor two weeks ago when he saw her for his 4 year check up.
So what did his hygienist tell me today? That tooth that he’s been complaining about when we brush his teeth [but ONLY when we brush his teeth]? It’s cracked. So much for the doctors in the ER telling me his teeth were fine when he got his stitches, right? As a matter of fact, that tooth is so badly cracked that it’s in two pieces and the gum is sort of, kind of growing in between it. She let me look in the little mirror at it; it’s bright red and looks super uncomfortable. When the dentist actually looked at it, she told me he’s a rock star for not complaining more than he has.
So, we’re off to a pediatric dentist next week to have the tooth pulled. His dentist couldn’t do it because she knows he wouldn’t let her in there with a needle to numb him. So he has to be gassed, then numbed, then have a tooth pulled. At the risk of sounding clueless, what else should I expect? I have managed to not ask Dr. Google his opinion, because frankly, Dr. Google scares the crap out of me most days. [You should have seen my face when my Delaware neurologist told me he thought I had Moyamoya and I started questioning Dr. Google. It was not pretty. Pretty sure I broke down in snot sobs in my office.] The person who scheduled our appointment at the pediatric dentist asked me if he’s been eating/playing/sleeping well. She also seemed surprised when I told her he literally only complains when getting his teeth brushed.
Any of you have kids who’ve had dental work done at four? Any advice? Should I just plan to keep a bottle of wine next to my bed to deal with all the whining? Please, help a Mama out here.