Is still intact.
I cannot believe it. An educated professional dentist could not get my daughter to comply long enough to stick one digit of one finger into her mouth to get the “effer” out.
And, it’s her eighth birthday today.
I took her to have her tooth extracted on her birthday, the only day of the year which constitutes extra, extra special treatment, and gifts, and love, and yummy treats, and what do I do? I take her to the dentist, where she is back there for over 37 minutes, and I am waiting in the front, thinking, “Oh my God, this is taking too long, why is this taking too long” and I’m raising my eyebrows and turning my ears toward the door to try to get a glimmer of an idea of what’s going on back there, and I don’t hear anything so I ask the receptionist, “Is she OK?”
“She seems fine.”
I know this is exactly how I will feel on a day, maybe twenty or twenty-five years down the road, if I am in a waiting room while she and her husband are at work trying to get a baby out. And I’ll wish I was there with her, holding her hand, wiping her face, telling her it’s OK and that it’s almost over and the pain won’t last, and as soon as that tiny little thing gets out of her body she’ll feel so much better.
The dentist finally called me back there. I was like, “WTF, THE TOOTH IS STILL IN HER MOUTH?” Is he not a professional? Doesn’t he do this for little kids like all the time? Is this totally abnormal behavior for a child with a loose tooth?
I try to calm her down, because she’s crying and her face is blotchy and it’s her birthday for crying out loud and what kind of mother am I to do this to my child on her birthday. I try to hold her hands so the doctor can get in there.
He tells me, “I can’t do it. Ten years ago, twenty years ago, I could do this with no problem, but the climate in this town…” He thinks I’ll sue him! Or that one of his patients (and the office is filling up) will file a suit on him for mistreating a little girl, a little girl who happens to be celebrating her birthday, a little girl screaming hysterically on her birthday—what a way to say Happy Freaking Birthday.
We leave. In the car, she is crying, and I start crying too. “I’m so sorry, honey! I feel so terrible, I am so, so, so sorry! I didn’t want your birthday to start out this way,” I say.
“It’s OK mommy. It’s OK.”
You know, I don’t really know if it is OK. And now my baby girl, who is eight today, is at school, with a dangling tooth that’s causing her to talk like she has a mouthful of spit, causing her to not be able to eat her favorite foods on her birthday, causing her to get so upset she doesn’t eat but instead vomits stomach acid.
I can tell you this for certain. She will always remember her eighth birthday. I just hope that later today, I can make this a happier and brighter day for my precious, precious little Diva Girl.