So, Parker had two molars extracted today. She hates that word. "Stop saying 'extracted'. It's like pretending my teeth won't be dug out of my gums with tools."
We got there and Parks was knocking her knees all over the place. I would too. I was saying a mantra over and over again in my head. Thank Christ it's not me. Thank Christ it's not me.
Parker interrupted my soothing mantra asking, "Hey! Is the tooth fairy aware of what's going down today? I'm thinking $5 a tooth. This is big time." I think she knows there's no fairy, but doesn't want to risk losing some greenbacks.
So she settled into the dentist chair, surrounded by menacing tools hidden under a sheet. I know what's under there: drills, spiked-hammers, and maybe a few knives. I stood in front of the tray so my kid wouldn't ask what was hiding underneath the cleverly-placed sheet.
Paige thought it was a fucking carnival. "You mean, we get to stay and watch? Will there be snacks? Sweet!" I explained that this was not a movie for which we pay admission and we need to support Parker instead of trying to benefit off the entertainment value of this anxiety-ridden event. I let Paige down gently. "No, we're leaving. The doctors will take good care of your big sister and we'll see her in recovery."
Then the doctor said, "Well mom, if you want to stay while she goes to sleep, she could probably use a hand to hold." Immediately, I mentally protested. "You see, I have OCD and I will obsess about the fact that I saw my daughter get as close to death as I'll ever see and I don't think it will be good for my mental health and it's a weird condition that prevents me from hitting the OFF switch on my brain and doctors think it's genetic, but..."
I told OCD to fuck off and held my daughter's hand. I didn't realize when she fell asleep because her eyes were open, so I kept yapping about how Rocket, our dog, will be waiting for her when she got home and how she'll have ice cream for dinner and we'll watch a movie in the afterno...the doctor cut me off. "She's asleep. We'll take good care of her. We need to get started now." Oh, okie dokie. I'll be out there, then. Far away from my daughter. You know where I'll be if you need me. I'll be sitting in the lobby chewing my fingers off until you get me.
In the recovery room, Parker was basically drunk. So I said, "Girls, listen to me. This is what it looks like to have 10 beers. You're dizzy, groggy and you can't really walk. Decisions are impaired because you can't think clearly. I want you to remember this because it's not fun. Well Parks, you won't remember, but I'll remind you later.
So all in all a good day. Teeth were successfully removed. My daughter was a courageously brave champ. I conquered OCD. And on top of all that, I gave a good lesson on teenage drinking. Not bad. Not bad at all.