Oh, settle down. There wasn’t any profit involved for ME.
As I mentioned in passing, Chickadee went to the dentist last week to have a couple of baby teeth out. She was perfectly fine until the syringe touched her gums, and then crocodile tears began to run down her face and the moaning started.
She was, in a word, terrified. And nothing any of us did or said made it any better, and the sweet young dentist removed her gloves and refused to proceed, saying that she didn’t want her to have a “negative experience that will sour her on dentists forever.” I didn’t feel like we were exactly leaving on a high note as it was, but I guess it was better than ripping her teeth out while she sobbed.
Well, today we had the Real Deal.
Dr. Oral Surgeon has a state-of-the-art office with gigantic widescreen computer monitors and kid-friendly art on the walls. The room Chickadee was placed in featured a kid-sized dentist chair in the center, and she passed some quality time playing with its armrests. (“They go out! And in! Look! See? Out! In!”) The staff was friendly and kind, and by the time I arrived (my ex brought Chickadee in while I got Monkey out the door and on the bus), the paperwork was done and we were mostly just waiting for Dr. OS to make his appearance.
When he did enter the room, Dr. OS was soothing and kind and apologized for his lateness, saying that he was having some painting done (no further explanation was offered; perhaps he was beating the contractors).
We did introductions and shook hands and I noticed that Dr. OS’ fly was unzipped. Which of course meant that from that moment on I heard absolutely nothing he had to say.
“Well, today we’re going to be removing—” Zip up zip up zip up! “And according to the xray—” Check the barn door! “We’ll use this mask—” WARDROBE MALFUNCTION!
This was of course accompanied by me trying to look somewhere, ANYWHERE, else. So I’m guessing I appeared to have some sort of vision problem, what with my wild-eyed casting about.
Eventually Dr. OS left the room for… ummm… I don’t know what, as I hadn’t been able to listen to anything he said before going. “Do you think he left to go zip his fly?” I asked my ex.
“What?” asked Chickadee.
“Nothing!” we responded in perfect unison.
There was some more waiting, and then Dr. OS returned. With his fly zipped. Thankfully.
“Alright, Chickadee,” he crooned as he lowered her chair. “We’re just going to put this mask on you, and you take some nice deep breaths and maybe you’ll feel a little floaty, okay?”
She nodded, hands clamped on the armrests. About 10 seconds after they put the mask on her, her hands unclenched and hung loosely at her sides. Dr. OS asked her if she was feeling floaty and she waved an arm in the air before lowering it halfway and seemingly forgetting that it was there, still semi-erect.
From my vantage point over by the wall, I tried not to laugh too loudly.
“Chickadee, I’m turning down the gas a little now. Do you feel like you had a little nap?” She murmured assent, head lolling against the headrest. “Okay, well you shouldn’t feel anything. I’m going to go in for the first tooth now, okay?”
“Mmmhmmmm…” her little arm waved a bit and then came back down.
Dr. OS went at her mouth with a pair of pliers and I watched, horrified, as he rocked them back and forth a couple of times and then extracted a dragon fang from my daughter’s head. My ex and I both said something astute along the lines of “WHOA!” as it was placed on the tray. From the looks of it, the tip of the root had been lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her belly button.
[Don’t believe me? Don’t click if you’re squeamish: Exhibit A.]
“Chickadee, doing okay?” Another murmur. “Alright, that’s one, I’m coming in for the second one, now.” The second tooth was a repeat of the first, only this time Dr. OS casually mentioned that—orthodontic issues aside—she would’ve ended up having those teeth pulled, anyway, because they had unusually large, strong roots for baby teeth. “It’s a good thing she’s here!” he laughed.
They packed her mouth up with gauze and gave us aftercare instructions and let her dig through the prize box and sent us on our way. That’s when my adventure began.
Because, you know, my daughter is pretty amusing. But my daughter completely drunk? Is hilarious. And she was drunk.
As we started to walk out the front office door, she saw her father’s jacket hanging on the coat rack. This caused her to laugh and laugh and laugh. Because, jacket! On the rack! SO FUNNY!
In the lobby, we passed a newspaper machine. ALSO HILARIOUS!
By the time I got her into the car, she’d discovered that the slap bracelet she’d selected as her prize could be slapped around her wrist, sure, but also curled up to use like binoculars! Or slapped against her NOSE! I spent the drive home watching her in the rearview mirror. She giggled and lurched and generally enjoyed her incredible wit.
At home on the couch, she held conversations with the cartoon characters on the television, and grabbed up her extracted teeth to tuck into her upper lip and use as Dracula fangs. That one never got old.
The original plan had been to let her convalesce for the morning, then take her in to school… but after a hard morning of giggling at everything under the sun, the oozing, gaping wounds in her mouth were actually giving her some pain, and she was showing some signs of fatigue, coming down off her high. So I tucked her into my bed for a nap, and lay down with her for just a minute. We slept for over an hour, and both felt much better.
Except that I sort of missed Drunk Chickadee, afterwards. She was a party animal.