You Have a Talent for Causing Things Pain/People Will Pay You to Be Inhumane

Thank you all for your faith in my prison success skills. I have big plans to go knock over a bank so I can test my theory.

Meanwhile, I have all these half-finished blog posts floating around in my head, none of which have made it into coherent, published posts. I would blame it on my full-time job, but, um, I've actually had this week off, so my argument is a little moot at this point (or "mute," as about 80% of the people I work with--educators, mind you--think the word is). Two ideas seem diametrically opposed, but such is the mishmash of my brain these days. Both thoughts come to me after having spent several days in a row with my sweet son. The first is how often I feel, pettily and immaturely, fucking irritated at the inherent inequalities of parenthood in the first year. A friend did warn me about this, and other moms (especially those who breastfed) have confirmed that's just the way it is, but I am irritated by it nonetheless. The second post that keeps composing itself is how veryveryvery much I love him and how fucking appealing he is these days. This is the bait and switch baby they put in the store window to get you to come in for a test drive.

And yet, being as how it's after 10 and the babe is asleep and I must needs hasten to that state myself, of neither of these shall I write tonight. I will, I want to write about both, but they are both full of big emotional thoughts, and I am...well, not, right now. Instead, I am a little focused on my teeth.

One of the things on my to-do list for this week was "call and schedule dentist appointment," because it has been over a year since I've been. In fact, I was in last in October of 2008, when I was about 4 1/2 months pregnant with Tankbaby, and in the chair, getting my teeth cleaned, was the first time I felt him kick. I had felt movements before, but they were...not unlike certain biological functions, shall we say, and I wasn't sure if they were him. But something about the angle of the chair, the vibration of the cleaning tool, or the scrape, scrape, scrape of the...scraping tool thingy apparently resonated down in the ol' ute, and Tank was kickboxing. I came home and tried to convince MOTH to make "dentist noises" so that he could feel it as well. Do I need to tell you what his answer was?

Anyway, it's been poking around in the back of my mind for months, and I finally went ahead and wrote it down for this week (sidebar: does anyone else out there add piddly or previously-accomplished things to your to-do lists solely for the pleasure of being able to cross them off? Like, "8. Put away laundry. 9. Get new tires on Honda. 10. Make to-do list." Well, looky here, I can cross off number ten already!). Notice how I'd manged to postpone the unpleasantness until Thursday. I expected to get in sometime over my spring break, so imagine my surprise (and chagrin) when they told me I could have the 5 pm cancellation. Today.

I should probably explain the chagrin. Wait, I bet I don't have to. Does anyone out there look forward to going to the dentist? Yeah, that's what I thought. Well, while I exactly enjoy any part of the dental experience, I also dread going because I have bad teeth (these are the words of my former dentist, who I actually loved. Actually, what he said was, "Yep. You have your dad's teeth." Dad's teeth have been known to crumble into bits while he eats crunchy foods like...bread.) and genetics, plus a lapse in professional cleanings while I lacked insurance, mean that there's usually an unpleasant surprise for me. I will admit to a weakness for sticky, gummy candies, but I also have pretty darn good dental hygiene. I mean, I actually do floss every frickin' day. I make the requisite little circles at the gumline. I chew sugarless gum after meals, and peelu bark if I can't find gum.

So in I went, stifling a nauseated moan at that very particular...dental office odor. You know the one I mean. It's not exactly medicinal, nor is it particularly offensive, but it's so very...dental. And I was worried about what fresh horrors awaited me, as every time I go in, I get these sadly gentle reprimands about how my teeth are basically rotting out the center of my skull. I have also gotten conflicting advice. One hygienist told me to brush my teeth for five minutes, but then the next one was appalled and told me two minutes was plenty as long as I brushed them well. Today's masked marvel told me that I was brushing too hard, and now my gums are receding (pretty!) and somehow she sold me on an electronic brush that apparently applies even pressure (I'm assuming that I am still going to be holding it though, so how does it make sure that I'm holding it evenly?). Also, there's this crazy magical paste that I'm supposed to smear on after brushing that's supposed to decrease sensitivity and erase these annoying white fluorosis spots, as well as help rebuild the weak spots in my teeth by holding on to the minerals, or something. (See! The informed consumer make important medical choices!)

Anyway, after the scraping and polishing and poking (and the subsequent discovery that one of my fillings is cracked, so despite my non-worsening-levels of decay, I still get to go back in for another appointment--this time with the drill. Yay!), they painted this fluoride varnish on my teeth. I was instructed to wait for at least 30 minutes to eat, and then not to brush my teeth at all tonight, so that the varnish could really...do whatever it does. So now I'm sitting here, about to go to bed, very aware of the fact that I had feta cheese in my dinner omelet, and wondering if, just maybe, those jelly beans I defiantly ate AS SOON AS I GOT HOME FROM THE DENTIST weren't a good idea.

Mmm. Who wants to give me a big ol' kiss first thing in the morning?