Dun-dun-dun(tist)…

We went back to the dentist today. Sam cooperated. Gabe…did no handstands, I’ll give him that. Sadly, that’s the only credit he can get for the visit, aside from not actually screaming in the dentist’s face that he hated him or wished him violence. It did end in the hygienist and I restraining Gabe’s flailing arms and legs while the doctor managed a cursory brushing (no tools, just a regular brush) and exam. Thank God, he says his teeth looked fine and not in need of deeper cleaning. Had they not…well, let’s say that the words “pre-sedation” and “Valium” were used, and not by me. The dentist said that the main drawback is that Gabe wouldn’t remember the appointment if we had to do that, and what he really needs is experience with a complete appointment or two so that he can see that it’s not so bad. His fears are making it the ordeal it is, with sobbing and choking and several instances of staring down into a proffered trash can, on the edge of vomiting.

But Gabe actually let the dentist hold his hands when it was all over, listening to what he was saying, with the last of his whole-body shudders and lower-lip quaking. The dentist was remarkably calm and patient through the whole thing; I think it was me, honestly, who tipped the event into the “Let’s just get it done” territory. Mom Fail, probably. But, hey, Sam did well! As well he might, considering that it’s still a distinct possibility that he could need orthodontia for the laterals that look to be coming in via the Soft-Serve Ice Cream Swirl Method.

Phew. Glad that’s over for another six months. Somebody please tell me that we’ll see remarkable strides in self-control between now and then? Doesn’t have to be the truth, so long as it’s convincing. (Not gonna go look through my archives at Sam’s history; it’s becoming less and less relevant, anyway, as Gabe grows and evermore plows his own path.)