Paul has two cavities. And if you don't know us in real life, I would like to tell you Ryan and I are rule followers. So we brush our children's teeth. And yet our four year old has two cavities.
So we (and by we I mean Ryan) took him to a pediatric dentist who reported that his enamel never grew in, so it wasn't our fault that he had cavities. That made me feel better. For a moment. We had a few options about what to do with these cavities, but ultimately we chose to fill them. And guess who had to take him? Yes, you are correct. His soft hearted mother. They warned Ryan they would probably only do one at a time, resulting in 2 different appointments.
I tried to psyche Paul up for the dentist. I promised a toy. I made it sound like we were having a really fun mom and Paul date. I said we could get ice cream (perhaps ice cream is to blame for the cavities). But I think he could call my bullshit from miles away.
We get to the dentist. All starts well as he is impressed with the aquarium. We go back to the chair- he likes that. He doesn't even seem to mind getting his teeth cleaned. But then it is time to fill the cavity. The cavity I am assured is really small. It takes about one millisecond of hearing the drill and I have to lay on top of Paul, hold his arms down while he SCREAMS bloody murder. They had to quickly shut the doors of the room we were in, so we did not traumatize the other poor children in the office that day. And I just laid there and tried to find yoga breath while he screamed. Frankly, I don't know if it hurt that much or if he was just terrified. They didn't give him anything to numb the pain because they told me it gives them a better experience as they don't freak out having half their mouth numb. So maybe it did hurt. But it is also 2014 and I feel like the world should figure out how to mask the sound of a drill. A drill coming towards your mouth.
But we made it through. I was sweating. Dripping. And I could feel my heart racing. We still have one to go. I conveniently made that appointment during fall break so Ryan can take him. I am bad at these sort of scenarios. My kids can get sick all over me, I can help with homework, I'll go on walks all day, I think I'm mostly patient, I'll do puzzles. But I cannot deal AT ALL when they are in pain or scared out of their mind. I need to toughen up. God help me if someone is mean to him on the playground. I'll have to go to therapy. Or start taking drugs.
Anyway, he was fine afterwards and we went to Target to get the promised present. We picked up Charlie from daycare (I almost just took Charlie with me. Thank goodness that didn't happen as he would have had to start taking baby anti-anxiety medication listening to all that screaming). I call my friend Kelsey so she and her baby can come over to recap this horrid experience. I decided to stop by King Soopers to pick up a few snacks for the play date. I am so relieved that the dentist is over, I even let the kids ride in the dumb car cart. We are almost done with the shopping when Paul quickly jumps out of the cart yelling, "HE'S THROWING UP." I get around the huge shopping device and see Charlie sitting there with barf all over him. All over the cart. All over the floor. What do I do? Sweep up my disgusting child, grab Paul's hand and abandon ship. Leave. Leave barf on the floor and tell no one. I feel like I just spread bad karma into the world with this one action. Maybe that is why two days later Paul threw up in my car? But I honestly didn't know what to do. I didn't know if he was going to throw up again and I guess I thought the best strategy was to just get out of there. I am sorry King Soopers. Truly, deeply sorry.
We finally arrived home, both kids in the bath and then dressed again. I put on some Mickey Mouse and the kids sat on the couch looking exhausted. There was nothing else I could do. So I opened a beer. At 11:45 am. And it could have been the best beer I have ever tasted.
It is comforting to know that even on the worst days, the days your fail as a parent and have to carry a child covered in throw up or physically restrain a 4 year old, that there is beer waiting at home. That I am thankful for.