The kids and I all had our teeth cleaned this week. Gareth and Emmeline are very good and solemn about their trips to the teeth doctor. I got the usual lecture about no gummy candies (it was kind of nice that he said this in front of Emmie actually, because she’ll toe the line about pretty much anything if she hears it from a doctor), and told I need to start flossing their teeth. I’ve been so nervous to do that to their poor little teeth because I’m so afraid I’ll hurt them. But that’s my own neuroses coming into play. Although I’m also a little afraid my fingers will get bit if I stick them in my children’s mouths. Maybe I will make it into a game and we can play “dentist trip” while I stab their poor gums with thread. On second thought…maybe Daddy should floss their teeth for them.
Did you know a routine cleaning is not supposed to feel like a thousand tiny swords? I didn’t! But I was so relieved to finally visit a dentist that told me what I was feeling was “definitely not normal.” A much nicer change of pace from the usual snarky comments hygienists like to offer up along the lines of “It feels like you’re going to die because you need to floss more often.” Turns out my teeth are beautiful, but sensitive out of control. (Don’t hate them because they’re beautiful…they get their feelings hurt quite easily. They’re sensitive, you know.) They felt so sorry for me flinching in pain that they offered me nitrous oxide and didn’t charge me for it. It didn’t help, unfortunately. Although I shudder to think how much it would have hurt without the gas.
I have fancy prescription toothpaste now. And two cavities that need fillings, but I’m under strict instructions not to get them filled (and not to floss either) until my teeth get better. I appreciate that. Score one for kind, gentle hygienists and dentists!