Thursday, February 11, 2010

Ah... the Reprieve of the Dentist's Chair

Well, the omens said it was going to be a DAY when we woke up this morning and our snowman had been peed upon by our landlord's dog. Julia and I locked horns for the first time before 8 AM. Julia is in that lovely four year-old zone where she wants to do everything BY HERSELF but isn't capable of doing everything BY HERSELF. The child has a repertoire of about 15 words she can write independently, yet she wanted to be totally autonomous in writing a message in her teachers' valentine, and 'I DON'T NEED YOU TO WRITE LINES MOMMY'. I am sorry, but I just don't think her teachers will understand what 'ST' means at the top of the valentine and 'YES YOU DO NEED LINES'.

So at 10:15, I found myself in the dentist's chair, ah, sweet escape. The irony is that 4+ years ago, I DREADED the dentist. I found it uncomfortable, painful, and downright horrid. Two natural, drug-free childbirths later, and pain is all relative. Yes, it is somewhat uncomfortable, and sure it isn't particularly charming to rinse and find yourself spitting out blood from your maimed gumline.

However, as I watched the calming fish screen saver on the computer in front of the dentist's chair, in that moment no one needed ANYTHING from me. The only thing anyone needed from me is for me to open up, rinse and spit. Compared to the day to day life of two children under the age of five without a babysitter on payroll (that's right, it's the Mommy show 24/7), open up, rinse and spit seems like a 'Calgon-take-me-away' moment. Kind of sad, isn't it?

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