Smile, Though Your Heart Is Aching

Jarrah had her first dental work on her unfortunately crapcake teeth this morning. I have been so stressed about it, I informed David he'd be coming with us. It was a good thing he was there. As soon as Dr. Baker started explaining how two of her molars are so far gone he needed to put crowns on them (at age 3!) I was blinking back tears. Way to go, Miss "Me Strong Like Ox" Mommy. David already has experience sitting by a hysterical female from this family while she endures probing in her orifices, so when they said only one of us could stay with the patient, I was out of there like a shot. Later, David squeezed my arm and said, "It's good that you weren't in there." Apparently, a little nitrous is not enough to ensure my daughter's docile cooperation, though it might have worked on me.

I sat blissfully ignorant in the waiting room, where I flipped through magazines about cooking and sleeping better while watching some revisionist version of Cinderella with half an eye. They were in there a mighty long time, I thought. In my mind, I kept seeing them running through the door screaming (or just one of them, alternating who in each variation) so I think I resembled a nervous bobolink whenever someone did come through the door, which was often.

When they finally emerged, the nurse led the way and Jarrah tottered into view, holding two balloons. Her little face was puffed up and dotted with chunks of dental crud. She looked at me, and at first she just looked sleepy. She focused on my face for a couple seconds, and then her expression crumbled like one of those cliffs that's just been dynamited. I put out my arms, she walked into them, and then she quietly began to weep. "Are you okay, sweetie?" I murmured into her hair.

"I cried," she whispered. "I cried because it hurt."

"It's okay to cry, sweetie. Do you want to hear a secret? Mommy cries at the dentist, too. I still think you're very brave." One of her molars was entirely encased in a silver crown, looking very gangsta.

The nurse told me that they were able to finish one side of her mouth, so we only have one more visit to do the other side, and we can do it before school starts. I'll be amazed if we can get her back there without a fight. Amazingly, though, she cheered up very quickly, and when I mentioned "Me Cluss-house" (My Kids Clubhouse) which is only two blocks away, she was eager to go.

"Or we could just have some fro-yo, go buy a toy, and have a rest at home."

"Let's have some fro-yo, go buy a toy, and then go to Me Cluss-house."

Ah yes, that's a better plan. When she got to My Kids Clubhouse, she made a bee-line for the snack counter, and--remembering all too well that I'd offered her every heart's desire--ordered a Lunchables and chocolate milk. I swallowed my automatic "In your dreams, babe" and quietly paid for it all. After making all food and drink disappear, she announced that it was time to play, and that's the last I saw of her until Joy arrived with the promise of pudding. Every time I saw her after that, she was sweaty, laughing and running, a pilled princess gown sausaged over her clothes.

Her mother, however, remains a wreck, though very proud of her brave girl. Still, not looking forward to doing it all again in a week and a half.