Jackson had to go to the dentist this morning. I know some people get really freaked out by the dentist, I’m not one of them. I’ve never been afraid of the dentist. It’s not that I haven’t had bad experiences that should have made me anti-denti, when you change dentists every three years, you’re bound to get a few quacks.
The big kids and I saw one in Texas that was so old I thought he was going to die while he was counting my teeth. Seriously. He was really old. His office was old. His assistant was old. Even his instruments were old, it was scary. I felt like we were in a Medieval torture chamber. I went to a complete sheister in Georgia. Every time I went I needed some sort of treatment that was not covered by my insurance and would cost a gajillion dollars. The last time I went there he never even looked in my mouth before suggesting a treatment. I didn’t go to Dentistry school, but I’m fairly certain they need to look at my teeth before suggesting a treatment.
One of the few bright spots in our life in Alaska is our dentist. He’s great. His office is nice. His staff is incredibly friendly. He’s fabulous with the kids, both big and small. That’s quite a feat considering one of those kids is Jackson, or as we like to call him – Satan.
He knew he had to go to the dentist today. That’s why he started panicking and crying promptly at 6 AM. He wouldn’t eat breakfast. He refused to get dressed. He cried while I brushed his teeth.
He didn’t want to go to the dentist.
He was scared.
He wanted to stay home.
He wanted to play video games.
He wanted his Daddy.
This was all made more difficult by the fact that it was pajama day at preschool. A BIG FUN day. (As if every day at preschool isn’t big fun.) I had to take him to school, where he could see all his friends in their jammies and excited, drop off Reese and then make him leave again. He had cried all the way to school, calmed down for the five minutes we were inside, then cried all the way to the office.
He might have been upset because he was hot. I put clothes on over his pajamas. I thought it would be weird to take my child to the dentist, in 13 degree weather, in pajamas. I didn’t want them to call CPS on me. (In hindsight it would have been nice to have the night off)
I told the receptionist that he had been crying all morning, so the dentist would be prepared. When we were called back he froze, planted his feet in the ground. I had to carry him back to the room.
When the dentist walked in he looked at him and yelled, “Underwear!” Then, “You’re underwear!” Our good-natured dentist played along. He showed him the tools he would use on his tooth. He told him jokes. He listened and laughed when Jackson told the why did the chicken cross the road joke.
Then he tried to do the filling.
Jackson would not stop talking. He kept yelling out “AWKWARD” and “CHICKEN” and saying to the dentist, “You’re an apple!”
(That last one sounds a lot like something else, but I’m sure he was saying ‘apple’)
But that wasn’t the worst part. He kept moving the dentist and his assistant’s hands away. He reached up and pulled the dentist’s finger out of his mouth. He pushed the assistant’s tools out of his face.
I had to hold his hands at his sides. He wasn’t freaking out because he was scared. He’s just crazy.
Once I had his hands down he started using his teeth and tongue to get control of his mouth. He started chattering his teeth, with the dentist’s fingers in his mouth. Chomping with his teeth and pushing the tools out with his tongue.
All the while yelling out.
“AWKWARD”
“CHICKEN”
“YOU’RE AN APPLE”
It was like trying to do a filling on a feral cat.
He kept sliding his tongue over the filling, making it impossible for it to set.
Since I’m the Mom I kept it all under control. Not really, I kept laughing, which only made him act more crazy.
Finally, they resorted to clamping a rubber sheet of something over the tooth, so it would be dry enough for the filling (or seal, or whatever it was) to bond.
That’s when he lost his mind. He cried. And screamed. And yelled, “I want to go HOME!!”
He cried so much that when they were finished his ears were wet from tears. (Don’t feel too bad about that, he did bite the dentist at least 136 times.)
I have to go for my cleaning on Thursday. I probably won’t yell “Chicken” quite as much.
