"I have to go to the dentist. I have a carroway seed caught under my bridgework."
Abbie visited the dentist yesterday. You might think there’s little for a dentist to do with a 16-month-old, look at the teeth, poke around, clean a little, and shove us out the door in five minutes before she even has a chance to cry, but you’d be wrong; he didn’t even do that much with her. And boy did she have a chance to cry.
I set this appointment months ago. Six months ago to be exact, right after her last appointment. She was still in two-nap-a-day territory at that point. When the receptionist asked what time I wanted her appointment I didn’t even think about her constantly adjusting nap schedule, or possibly I was stuck in a fantasy that Abbie’s nap schedule would always allow me to nap twice a day myself. Either way, I set the appointment for 1pm thinking that’s the optimum time for a stranger to poke around her teeth; well-rested right after her morning nap and too stuffed from lunch to care.
Today she’s firmly on a one-nap-a-day schedule, and 1pm just happens to be exactly the same time that she regularly goes down for her one nap. I knew that if the dentist tried examining Abbie when she was ready for her nap that he would be about as successful as a Chicago Bears quarterback. I tried compensating for her nap time by letting her sleep in that morning until she woke herself up instead of barging in her room with lights on and radios blaring at precisely 7:30am to wake her. She slept in all of about 15 minutes. This was enough time for me to write an extra paragraph, but not nearly enough time for her to significantly adjust her nap time. I tried to fool her by moving everything back 15 minutes including her noon lunch, but when the clock struck one she was sleepier than an Arizona Cardinals fan.
I brought her into the dentist five minutes early hoping he would squeeze us in early. Instead he gave us an extra five minutes to explore her diaper bag, discovering that her duck pond toy will indeed slide under the office’s radiator, but it will be really hard to get back out. When they called her name, two other people who walked in seconds after we did were still in the waiting area. Suckers.
Examining having the dentist and I sit facing each other knee-to-knee, sitting Abbie on my lap facing me, and then leaning her back so her head rests on the dentist’s lap. At this point Abbie was vaguely concerned about her welfare, but willing to see what happens next before crying, like a Hawkeye fan waiting to see if they lose to Illinois this weekend before suffering a meltdown.
Then the dentist looked in her mouth. Abbie doesn’t like me looking in her mouth when she’s in a good mood, let alone a complete stranger prying open her mouth when obviously she hasn’t even stuffed any dog food in her mouth. Recently.
After checking her mouth, he announced that all four incisors on both the top and bottom have ruptured along with the two canines up top. That’s a total of ten teeth poking through the gum line ready to mash food, shred burp clothes, and penetrate my shirt when I ignore her. He also said her two front top molars are ready to erupt, and when they do I’m sure Abbie will erupt as well. He also may have said something about me doing a good job keeping her teeth clean, though at that point she was screaming too hard for me to decipher him; he may have just said something about lean meats, or possibly Reece’s Pieces. Regardless I’m sure the people in the waiting area were sufficiently concerned about whatever horrible torment we were inflicting on that poor little girl.
That was all he did; no cleaning, no tips for keeping her teeth clean, not even a sample toothbrush. For simply looking at her teeth to verify they exist, he can charge the insurance company $46,281,032.85. On the way out I made a new appointment, but first thing in the morning this time.
Abbie fell asleep during the five-minute car ride back home. She whimpered when I pulled her out of her car seat, and fell back asleep in my arms. She woke again when I set her in her crib just long enough to optimally position herself, and fell asleep for good. It was cute enough to make me forget the screaming she did in the dentist’s office. Briefly.
I set this appointment months ago. Six months ago to be exact, right after her last appointment. She was still in two-nap-a-day territory at that point. When the receptionist asked what time I wanted her appointment I didn’t even think about her constantly adjusting nap schedule, or possibly I was stuck in a fantasy that Abbie’s nap schedule would always allow me to nap twice a day myself. Either way, I set the appointment for 1pm thinking that’s the optimum time for a stranger to poke around her teeth; well-rested right after her morning nap and too stuffed from lunch to care.
Today she’s firmly on a one-nap-a-day schedule, and 1pm just happens to be exactly the same time that she regularly goes down for her one nap. I knew that if the dentist tried examining Abbie when she was ready for her nap that he would be about as successful as a Chicago Bears quarterback. I tried compensating for her nap time by letting her sleep in that morning until she woke herself up instead of barging in her room with lights on and radios blaring at precisely 7:30am to wake her. She slept in all of about 15 minutes. This was enough time for me to write an extra paragraph, but not nearly enough time for her to significantly adjust her nap time. I tried to fool her by moving everything back 15 minutes including her noon lunch, but when the clock struck one she was sleepier than an Arizona Cardinals fan.
I brought her into the dentist five minutes early hoping he would squeeze us in early. Instead he gave us an extra five minutes to explore her diaper bag, discovering that her duck pond toy will indeed slide under the office’s radiator, but it will be really hard to get back out. When they called her name, two other people who walked in seconds after we did were still in the waiting area. Suckers.
Examining having the dentist and I sit facing each other knee-to-knee, sitting Abbie on my lap facing me, and then leaning her back so her head rests on the dentist’s lap. At this point Abbie was vaguely concerned about her welfare, but willing to see what happens next before crying, like a Hawkeye fan waiting to see if they lose to Illinois this weekend before suffering a meltdown.
Then the dentist looked in her mouth. Abbie doesn’t like me looking in her mouth when she’s in a good mood, let alone a complete stranger prying open her mouth when obviously she hasn’t even stuffed any dog food in her mouth. Recently.
After checking her mouth, he announced that all four incisors on both the top and bottom have ruptured along with the two canines up top. That’s a total of ten teeth poking through the gum line ready to mash food, shred burp clothes, and penetrate my shirt when I ignore her. He also said her two front top molars are ready to erupt, and when they do I’m sure Abbie will erupt as well. He also may have said something about me doing a good job keeping her teeth clean, though at that point she was screaming too hard for me to decipher him; he may have just said something about lean meats, or possibly Reece’s Pieces. Regardless I’m sure the people in the waiting area were sufficiently concerned about whatever horrible torment we were inflicting on that poor little girl.
That was all he did; no cleaning, no tips for keeping her teeth clean, not even a sample toothbrush. For simply looking at her teeth to verify they exist, he can charge the insurance company $46,281,032.85. On the way out I made a new appointment, but first thing in the morning this time.
Abbie fell asleep during the five-minute car ride back home. She whimpered when I pulled her out of her car seat, and fell back asleep in my arms. She woke again when I set her in her crib just long enough to optimally position herself, and fell asleep for good. It was cute enough to make me forget the screaming she did in the dentist’s office. Briefly.
posted by Matt at
9:38 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home