The Dentist

Yesterday I took the boys to back-to-back dental appointments.

It was so bad.

Deacon had some early mouth trauma with a tooth extraction and a visit to the oral surgeon early in life. That ruined the dentist for him for all eternity, or so it seems.

He was fine at his first dentist appointment before the trauma, but since then it has been a scream-fest.

He went first. I had to haul him onto the chair and hold him there until they started, then he relaxed a little and I held his hands. And he screamed. And he cried. The whole time. Lovely.

They asked him about school and I had to admit he was homeschooled. I could see them all thinking, "no wonder he is unwilling to be alone and insists on his mom being here". I wanted to tell them that he is normally a happy child who likes new experiences and exciting things. He just falls apart at the dentist. But I didn't. I just gripped his hands, ignored the screaming and talked with the dentist politely. He claims it was just because he was so hot. And it was hot. And he was all red and sweaty and hot. But that was mostly because of the screaming.

Lincoln was next. He had been cheerfully watching the portable DVD player and waiting his turn. He seemed happy, he seemed interested. Until it was time to get into the chair. He freaked out. I held his legs, the hygienist had him in a head lock and the other hygienist held his arms. And it took all of our combined strength to keep him still enough to get his teeth cleaned. He was sweaty, he was hot, he stunk. That kid is SO STRONG! Next time they will put him in restraints, they said. I felt a little bad, and I would have waited until he was a little older to take him, but because of his severe speech delay, the speech pathologist wanted to have him looked at by a dentist to assess his mouth structure and teeth and look for any problems- so it was necessary. I felt like I was at work helping hold down one of our withdrawing patients.

I think part of it was that he has gotten so used to screaming as a fall back because he can't communicate. Anyway, when we were done he gave me a hug, climbed off the chair and got his pout on- arms firmly crossed over his chest.

Roman was all excited about his turn. Pretty sure he was mostly excited because it looked like a good chance to scream and yell- as it seemed the thing to do. He yelled during the cleaning, but then managed to sit by himself for his xrays and actual dentist exam. He went to hop of the chair, which was still elevated and the hygenist's were all freaking out that he was going to fall. He just turned and looked at them with a look that said, "what do you think I am? 9 months old?"

Then we left.

We got in the car and the kids wanted popsicles. I told them that I had said popsicles were only for if they had been good at the dentist. And they had not gotten through it without screaming. That is not very good.

Roman pipes up, "the Dentist said I was good".

The Dentist was lying.