Just when you thought going to the dentist was one of your least favorite activities, you go ahead and decide to bring all 4 of your kids there at the same time.
I should say, though, that our pediatric dentist is the bomb. Paul Johnson is one of our members, but he’s also just one of those super cool doctor-people. You know, he’s genuinely funny, he smiles when he talks, he doesn’t talk down to you, you never feel like he’s “creating issues” so he can fix them and make him feel good about himself, he knows how to talk to a kid who’s terrified of the sound of a drill in his mouth, he just totally pimped out his office so you feel like a celebrity in some posh office in LA, and they even jam out to country music every Thursday for 4 hours.
The reality of it is, unfortunately, that he’s still a dude and a gang of chicks that are digging around in your mouth with a bunch of metal surgery tools and needing to yank your lips into wide positions that just don’t feel right (that’s actually code for “it makes your lips mad dry and you feel like your jaw is never going to go back to it’s natural state”).
And, then just when you think you’ve survived the whole thing and can plan on slowly driving your numb face home and bury your pitiful face in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Americone Dream, they snag you at the desk on the way out to present you with your bill.
I love Paul Johnson and everything about his practice, but to be totally honest, I’d rather spend that money on a romantic get-away vacation than on the 4 cavities that Maya’s accumulated because she thinks it’s fun to drink Powerade and even funnier to ignore my pleading for her to floss…like, even once every 6 months.
Ask my kids, I never “scold” them. I joke around with them all the time and snap at them when they leave their personal belongings (code for “crap”) all over my nicely-organized OCD-friendly kitchen and living room. But, I laid in to them about their irresponsible lack of oral health on the car ride on the way out of that appointment yesterday.
That, however, was nothinnnnnnggggg compared to the scene that actually went down in the waiting room with Bode and Baby Love while Maya and Jonah were in there racking up their insane bill.
Naturally, Harley Love…for lack of a more fitting term for the way it went down…shit her pants within 3 minutes of sitting in the waiting room. So, I brought her into the public bathroom that totally freaks me out because, like I already mentioned, I’m totally OCD about and can’t stand toddlers and the way they need to touch everrrrryyyyythinnnnnggggg in those places. I had to use no less than half the toilet paper roll because of the, shall we say, consistency of the matter.
When we finally got out of that upwards of 10 minute bathroom trip, I then had to figure out how to handle the fact that I brought Love in with nothing but a tank top and boy-cut undies on. No shorts, no shoes, just undies. And, now those had poop in them.
So, I run her quick out to the car because I’m usually good about keeping a spare outfit in the trunk for each kid, but all I’ve got in there is an outfit for Bode. Screw it. I put Bode’s underwear on her (like, tighty whitey sort of undies) which makes me totally uncomfortable, and his cargo shorts that are even enormous on him…so, you can only imagine how classy she looks in shorts that are half falling off of her, with boy tighty whitey’s on underneath that you can see like she’s a Eminem.
Naturally, we came back into the waiting room to find Bode who had just dumped his bag of popcorn upside down that I got him at Starbuck’s to try and keep him entertained for at least a portion of the dentist visit.
That’s what I get for being the sort of parent that uses snack food as a ploy to keep their kid busy in an office setting. Fine, I deserved that.
But, in no less than 3 minutes after I picked up the miniature pieces of popcorn off the floor (dumbest choice I could’ve made now that I think about it), Bode says, “Mommy, I have to poop.”
Back in the bathroom with him, except now I need to prop the bathroom door open enough so that he doesn’t freak out that I’m leaving him in there by himself, but also enough that I can monitor Harley Love and the bag of popcorn that I also got her.
So, now the entire office smells like poop (code “crap”…I’m trying really hard not to use bad language) because #2’s been happening since the minute our family walked in the joint.
Fine. We are disgusting.
Until Jonah finally opens the door to the waiting room and says, “Mom, I think I have diarrhea.”
Of course you do. Of course you have diarrhea.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Bergeron. Dr. Johnson needs to speak with you about Maya when you get a moment.”
And, you know that doesn’t mean, “She looked GREAT! Just keep up the good work!”
I’ll put it this way: that child needed to schedule 4 separate appointments over the course of the next month to deal with all of the work she needs done, in addition to Jonah needing to go back again in 3 months for a treatment, too.
And, you know that doesn’t mean I’m booking a “romantic get-away” anytime soon.