Sorry my blog is so late today, folks. I had the dubious honor of taking my daughter to a dentist appointment. It is a task my husband and I dread more than an IRS audit and damned if I didn’t draw the short end of the stick this time.

My daughter is so terrified of the dentist that a normal cleaning is an adventure, however today was even more so fun. Why you ask? Well, lucky us, she had to have two molars extracted. Yes, not exactly my idea of a fun day. Her either. Since I make it a point to never keep anything from my kids, I let her know what was going to happen before we even left.

The entire drive was full of tears, whines, and bribes from my end. I did everything but promise her a pony and Jonas Brothers concert tickets just to get her to leave the car once we got there.

“Don’t you want to be brave?” I asked brightly as I dragged her over the snow-covered ground.

“No”, she countered as she dug her heels in. “I want to be home.”

Yeah, kid that makes two of us.

Once we got back to the room the news got even worse. Their nitrous machine was broke so we were going to have to go into this without the aid of laughing gas. To borrow a term from my BFF, Patti Shenberger… Shit! Damn! Piss! I almost grabbed my daughter and left, then I realized that wasn’t an option. For weeks now she has been in pain and bleeding from the mouth. These babies had to come out today.

“No sleepy gas?” Daughter wailed as she curled up into a protective ball. “You promised me sleepy gas.”

“We can do this!” I encouraged.

“No, we can’t!” She clamped her mouth shut and tilted her chin up defiantly at the dentist. Forty pounds of unmovable determination.

Bless, his heart. The dentist never got mad or upset. He just smiled and took his time, using soft jokes and soothing words. Soon she opened her mouth, although she kept her glare fixed on him in a warning way. Like if he made one wrong move she would be so out of there.

Because nothing could go easy for us, it was the extraction from hell. The first tooth splintered into several small pieces and he had to dig it out of her gums. The entire time she screamed loud enough that I’m sure AJ heard her all the way across the country in California. In between sobs, she somehow managed to tell the dentist off, despite the fingers and dental instruments in her mouth.

Finally, thank to the gods above, it was over. She stood there pouting, her cheek packed with gauze as I received at-home instructions from the hygienist. She looked around for her teeth to take them home for the Tooth Fairy but there was nothing left.

“Don’t worry, Tooth Fairy will still give you money,” I promised.

“Yes, she will,” the hygienist agreed. “She always knows where to find lost teeth.”

“Okay,” Daughter then pinned the lady with a calculated look. “You promised me two toys from the treasure chest.”

“I sure did.” She took my daughter’s hand and they marched off together.

As I made my way to the desk, checkbook open and ready, the receptionist laid another bombshell on me.

“It looks like it’s time for your six-month checkup.”

“It is?” I gulped as fear raced through my body. I hate the dentist. Almost as much as my daughter does. Call me a coward. Call me yellow. Call me whatever you want. There it is, the truth is out in the open. I hate the dentist.

I just hope they have the sleepy gas fixed by the time I go back.

-Stephani