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Thursday, June 25, 2009

Why is her father is never available for these things?

Yesterday morning my daughter had a dentist appointment. I was kind of looking forward to it because I thought that while she was in the chair I would have some time to catch up on my reading. Ha! Apparently I’ve never met my daughter.

Before they called her back she asked me if I would stay with her while she got the shot, which of course I was more than happy to do. From the amount of theatrics that one tiny shot created a person might have thought that this little girl had never been to the dentist before and had no idea what to expect (or that they were amputating a limb). Not true. She has been to the dentist many times, but every time is like the first. “How long will this take?” “How bad will it hurt?” “Do I get a prize at the end?” “How long until I can eat again?” “When are you going to buy me a shiny gold tooth?” You know, all of the important things.

I stayed for the shot then I wished the dentist luck (because obviously he was going to need it) and headed out to the lobby. It wasn’t long before the whimpering started. Why don’t dentists get soundproof rooms? No one wants to hear that while they are waiting for their own root canal.

Would you think I was terribly cruel if I told you I pretended not to hear when the sounds of her squeals and cries carried down the hall and into the waiting room? How about if I told you I acted surprised when the hygienist came to get me because my daughter really wanted me with her? At least I didn’t roll my eyes. I don’t think I did anyway. I tried really hard not to.

Poor thing, I’m just not one of those moms who coddle and say sweet things when their kids are upset. No, I am one of those moms who, annoyed because I didn’t get to see the end of Divorce Court on the waiting room TV (now I will never know who got to keep the trailer) tells her (one and only) daughter to suck it up and let them drill the decay out of her tooth. I might have mentioned that it was her own fault that she was there in the first place, I mean she has access to floss for crying out loud. (I’m the mom that says “I told you if you ran with a stick you’d put your eye out. Happy now? Now that you’re BLIND!?” the whole way to the emergency room.)

When she was finally finished and we were on our way home she told me she thought it went really well. “It hardly hurt at all” she told me. I guess that depends on where you were sitting, because it was pretty painful in my chair.

On another note, I’d like to mention how relieved I am that our unseasonably cool temperatures have finally hit the road and things have returned to normal around here. There is just nothing quite as oveny and kiln-like as Arizona in the summer, and the thought of going an entire season without everyone and their dog commenting on the warmth had me a little nervous. ----------------Really people. It’s Arizona, it’s hot, its dry, and you’ve lived here forever. What were you expecting? Get over it or move, but for Pete’s sake, stop acting surprised.

6 comments:

Homer and Queen said...

You ARE my kind of mom! And WHY are you spying on me in the denists office and blogging about it? That is just wrong!

AuBien said...

I'm not the "poor baby" type of mom either. Sometimes I feel bad about it but it is what it is. And yes, I'm with you. I think people gripe about what they know is coming so they can feel like they at least registered their complaint!

James said...

Remember to bring an iPod next time. Then you can even ignore the hygienist for a few extra minutes.

Karen said...

This is exactly why I drop my kids off ... and drive away. Yep, I leave! And there is nothing that gets my goat (although I am goatless) more than people whining about our summers. PLEASE PACK UP AND MOVE!

Todd said...

Your summers do suck. I can say that because I had the good sense to move out of that inferno. Why do people choose to live like that again?

Anonymous said...

I love a mom who doesn't coddle her kids. I have always had a tendency to tell it like it is. My least favorite phrase in the english language is 'Oh, my POOR BABY!' Especially when the child is like 17. UGGGH, I hate it!
I know a woman who just HAD to take a half day off of work because her 10 year old childs rat died.
I must be sooooo cold hearted.

 
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