The dentist...da, da, dum

A couple days ago Violet had a dentist appointment. She was completely thrilled. And I mean the kind of thrilled that is lacking any kind of sarcastic inflection whatsoever. I told her she would get a new toothbrush after her appointment. Add to that the memory of the giant toy bin she got to pick from at her last checkup and her inner hoarder was completely psyched.

But then, dot, dot, dot, we get her in the chair, Peter Pan playing on the little TV overhead and the little stinker refuses to open her mouth. The dentist finally coaxed her into letting her at least look at her teeth – but don’t touch them! – and was completely gracious and encouraging to Violet about being so brave.

And I was like, “Really?” The girl barely had a bicuspid tickled. Seriously. I distinctly remember being practically strapped into a dentist chair as a kid so my teeth could be scraped clean until my whole mouth was throbbing. And there was no blueberry-chocolate-macadamia-nut fluoride crap back then. It was not pleasantly flavored whatsoever. And I was lucky to get a sticker. This kid ends up with a bag full of goodies AND now she knows there is a movie called Peter Pan which she is insisting we must have owned at one point before someone stole it from us. Because there cannot be any other logical reason for not owning every single Disney movie in existence. I don’t know where she gets these conspiracy theories.

But of course we’re building the cornerstones for future dentist visits—so she can look back at this one and smile and remember happy times and stickers and sparkly fairies. 

And she really did try to be brave. She didn't run screaming from the office, after all, which based on her temperament lately is quite an achievement. But I’m still a little bitter about the candy-flavored fluoride.