Will There Be Anything Left For Under The Pillow?

So, apparently Jarrah's blindingly white, stunningly gorgeous teeth are as crapcake as ever. And I'm all frustrated with myself, feeling like a bad mom. One of those days. You know those days?

Dentist this morning. A routine cleaning. I went over the procedure with Jarrah several times in the car. It's not that she's never been before; it's just that her anxiety level is through the roof because of what they did to her when she had six (!) cavities last year. My speech went kind of like this:

First, we play in the waiting room. We're in there forever. Finally, when we feel like we can't wait another second, they call us back. They put you in a chair with a big tube next to it and shove some little cards in your mouth. It's uncomfortable; I won't lie. But it's quick. After that, they lead us to a pink chair. You lie down and they make it go all the way back. The lady scrapes your teeth with a little metal tool. It's uncomfortable. [they didn't actually do this part.] Then they polish your teeth with a little tool that goes "Zzzzzzzz!" It doesn't hurt. Then they squirt water in your mouth. YOU ARE NOT GOING TO CHOKE. [she's very anxious about that part.] They suck the water out with a tube. It doesn't hurt. Then they sit you up, and the dentist comes over to take a look. And then you're done!

And that's pretty much what happened. And she was so brave. For the first time ever, she submitted to ALL the x-rays with total cooperation. It would have been so nice to reward her with a big sticker and a place on the No Cavities Club wall, but instead we got FIVE MORE CAVITIES.

Hello? Who is not even five years old and has ELEVEN cavities? I mean, what kind of parents does that kid have? Ones who think toothbrushes are luxury items, not appropriate for a recession? Ones who think floss is mostly good for stringing beads? Ones who think teeth get about as dirty as hair, more or less? Ones who feed their child a steady diet of fruit leather, sprinkles, Halloween candy, strawberry milk and the occasional bowl of mac and cheese?

Just ignore that last question. Look away, I tell you. Move it along. We never had this conversation.

I am crushed. CRUSHED. We've been so diligent about the flossing and brushing. Her teeth look amazing. But apparently they're just a collection of tiny time bombs.

I was so disappointed in myself, so of course I took it out on Jarrah. I sulked all the way to the car, and said "I'm sorry, Jarrah, but no more fruit leather. NO MORE. EVER. Do you understand me? And no candy. EVER. In fact, you can't eat food at all anymore."

And on top of my evidently jaw-dropping negligence, I am a "difficult" parent, because the dentist started talking more crowns (she has two) and I flat out refused.

No. She is not a rapper. There is enough silver in her mouth already. Absolutely not. I'm getting a second opinion.

They threatened me with malpractice, infection, and fates more horrifying still. But there's nothing they could say to make me feel worse than I already do. I feel like I've totally failed my kid, or rather, that I'm busy failing her every day.

Failure as an ongoing project. Great.

And then while we were waiting to hear the damage for our "treatment plan," her purple balloon popped and everyone in the waiting room screamed.