Let me start off by saying that my thighs are still shaking.

Ahhhh……got your attention now, don’t I?

You are dirty!

This is a wholesome blog that does not…..…..…screw it.

My mind would go there too.

But this is not that kind of post.
This post is about something not as fun as that.
This post is about going to the Dentist.

Why are my thighs still shaking, you may ask, from a dental appointment? Well, dear reader, the appointment was for Monchichi, who of course, was less than thrilled with having to sit in a dentist chair for thirty minutes. I haven’t met a child yet (and as a kindergarten teacher, I meet many many children) who particularly enjoys visiting the dentist. I am a grown up and I don’t care for it much either.

But add some non-verbal autism to the mix and you’ve got yourself a party.

First off, total cosmic high five to Dr. **** for her rockin attitude and awesome staff. They deserve an award for this afternoon’s production.

We started with me lying on the chair and monchichi lying on top of me, both of us facing the ceiling. That didn’t work.

We moved on to plan B, where I was at the end of the chair and helped sort of hold monchichi down. After he almost took out the hygenist’s eye with that air-sucker-thingy we opted for plan C: I straddled monchichi while they raised the chair until I couldn’t touch the floor anymore.

I think there were four of us, but I started to lose count after I saw the horror in my son’s eyes. It stopped being funny. I felt like I was betraying him. They started shoving all the horrible torture devices that dentists like to use, like a soft-bristled toothbrush, a mirror, and a mouth pillow the size of Texas to keep his mouth wide open. I think at that point, if he were able to, my son would have looked deep into my eyes and said, “Mama, F@#$ you!”

And I wouldn’t freakin blame him.

You have to be prepared for anything when you have a special needs child. Everything is exponentially harder. That’s just life. If you assume things will go smoothly, you are setting yourself up for failure. I always go into a situation thinking we are going to lose a limb, so when we come out with all of our extremities intact, I know it was a complete success.

And you have to cut yourself some slack too. I cried a little today; when they did his exam, when they said he has gingivitis, and when the dentist told me we have to admit him into the hospital and put him under general anesthesia in order to do his cavities and x-rays. For f’s sake, it’s cavities. But all of a sudden it’s become a hospitalization, with risks and side effects. And it’s a reminder of how complicated everything becomes.

Am I whiny enough for you yet?

By the way, I am so glad no one had video footage of what transpired in Suite 108 this afternoon, because I guaranfreakintee you that I would be a YouTube sensation by now. I didn’t know I could bend that way and I am pretty sure the husband will be thrilled to learn that I can.

So to recap:

Dentists are nice people who mean well but wreak a lot of havoc on the lives of decent, tax-paying, law abiding citizens.

Mommies who endure the physical and emotional trauma of holding down their offspring while the dentist yells out things like “E and F are loose and G, H, I, J, K, L, M-Z are decaying” should at least walk out with a t-shirt that states: “I betrayed my son, feed him too much sugar, am more scared of the dentist than he is, and all I got was this t-shirt.”

Laughing gas should be available to both the patient and the responsible party.

Said laughing gas should be sold in local grocery stores.

Dentures don’t seem like such a bad idea.

Kindergarten teachers don’t make nearly the same money a dentist does.

Please pray for me,

I have to go.
Monchichi needs to floss.
(*before the drama…..when my son still trusted me)
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