Dentist visit

A did great; he's got wonderfully clean and pristine teeth with only a few pits on his molars and a beautifully aligned bite. They let him run the Mr. Thirsty water-sucker-thing and the air/water gun, and he thought that was wonderful.

Our dentist's office (still) adores him. And they scheduled me for a cleaning tomorrow and assured me that I'm having a girl. But A assured them that he's getting a brother. So there we are.

On a completely random note: Is it weird to anyone else that many, many interpretations of the religious beliefs of the Founding Fathers seem to be purported by sects of Christianity that did not actually exist at the time of the Revolutionary War? And that the Founding Fathers are all claimed as forefathers to these churches that did not actually come into existence until at least a decade or so after the Constitution was written? Or am I just a bizarro preggo former history major with too much historiography in her head?

Second dentist visit

Our dentist's office loves A. They just adore him. An extra sticker, an extra toy, how are you cutie, who does he look like today (C, with my smile was the consensus).

Anyway, he went today for a cleaning and he did great: sat in the chair, had X-rays (no bitewings--too irritating), tartar scraped off his teeth, a good polish, and a quick exam. He didn't complain or cry, just took it all in.

His teeth are great; his bite is good, so far, although we're watching it. And we could see his permanent teeth on his X-rays. Holy cow, he's got huge adult teeth in his little tiny jaw. It's really odd to see.

But now he's got stickers and a toothbrush and an alligator toy and a fish toy (because he had to have two, and my "just one, please," be damned) and sparkling clean white teeth.

First floss

I'm at home trying to write (re-write, but there's a lot of new stuff) and keep A on the floor of our bedroom which means that our bedroom is now a de-facto mess. Every other sentence I stop to ask A to put things back into the bedside tables (we really need those stops installed).

One of the things he's taken out is floss, which A thinks is super: a tiny roll of waxed string that feeds out really, really fast.

Anyway, I am explaining to him what floss is and I hand him a length to play with. He tries to twist it around his fingers and then runs it through his teeth.

"Would you like me to floss you?"

Uh-huh, affirmative.

So I sit him on my lap and make an attempt at flossing a two-and-half-year-old, which I know my dental hygienist is not doing to her own two-and-half-year-old yet. A sits through it very happily, takes the string from me and attempts it again himself when I'm done, and then throws the used string in the trashcan just like Mommy does.

As a child, I had not the best dental care. We didn't floss--it was a stretch to brush twice a day. I had teeth pulled with just laughing gas, which is not enough for me. My subsequent groovy dentists both comment, "Wow, you certainly need a lot of novocaine." My childhood dentist shot himself in his ex-wife's basement before setting the house on fire--true story--and that was the end of regular dentist visits until I was a Grown-Up.

So now I verge on the crazy OCD path of dental hygiene. I brush my teeth after every meal when I'm at home. I try to floss every day and probably manage to do so most of the time. If I skip, it bugs me. If I can't remember flossing on a given day, I'll floss again to make sure that I flossed. (And I've been wearing my retainer pretty regularly.)

Well, apparently, I've set my son on a road to dental OCD. Oh well. There are worse things to pass along, I guess.

Second dentist visit

He's got good teeth, happily.

First of all, the people at our dentist's office love A. I was in there all the time when I was pregnant, got my braces off and had a bunch of work done postpartum when I could wheel A in in the stroller and have him stay put. So they've known him since before his debut and they adore him.

So we go for his cleaning today and everyone in the office has to say hi. He high-fives everyone. He doesn't want to sit in the chair, but he sits in my lap in the chair. Then he doesn't want to open his mouth. He takes a toothbrush, brushes with his lips tightly shut, and drops the toothbrush on the floor.

And then Chris the tech lets him have the air/water gun. And we're off to the races. There's water everywhere: on me, A, the tech, the walls, the floor. Everywhere. But A figured out that he could squirt the water in his mouth for a drink, and then he would open his mouth to have a drink and blow air on his tongue, and voila, the tech can check his teeth.

He brushes and she gets a mirror in to inspect his teeth, then she says, "Do you think he'd let me polish them with the magic toothbrush?" Sure, why not? She shows it to him and lets him lick the (bubble gum flavored) toothpaste, and sure, he'll let her polish his teeth.

Then the dentist comes back to examine him, and yes, with the tech there, he'll let the dentist examine his teeth.

Happily, it all looks good. His teeth are plaque-free, even in the front where they expect toddlers to have plaque, and there's no signs of decay, even in his molars. His bite looks good; he may have a deep bite but the dentist wouldn't be worried about that for some time anyway. And he does officially have all twenty teeth, which is super.

So he's doing good, we're doing good, and the only improvement to A's dental regime that the dentist could offer was brushing after every meal instead of twice a day. But that's it.

This kid has had two parents in braces for most of the time he's been alive. He's seen a lot of tooth brushing and tooth maintenance. C says I spend an inordinate amount of time brushing, but that's because I am not a slave to the timer on my Sonicare.

We go again in six months. Whee! I'm so glad his teeth are turning out to be more like C's than mine.