Peyton was a champ as they taught her how to properly brush, cleaned her teeth and poured purple goo in her mouth to check for plaque. She was a rockstar at listening, following instructions, and opening up for them to floss.
And then came the x-rays. To her defense, Peyton had already been at the dentist for close to an hour, and her patience was wearing thin. The x-ray films made her gag (they make me gag too) and the wheels started to come off.
She still needed to visit with the actual dentist and get her flouride treatment when the tears began welling up in her eyes. "Mommy, I really want to be all done with this," she pleaded. When I told her we were so close and as soon as we were done we'd go to school to see her friends she panicked, "But I probably already missed snack!!" Priorities.
She managed to pull it together long enough for Dr. Wexler to count her teeth and inform Martin and I that we had better start a fund for orthodontics. It appears poor Peyton Bear inherited my horrendously crooked teeth (he could tell that her permanent teeth were already crooked by looking at the x-rays), and will likely need enough metal in her mouth to get her to the moon.
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| Fake smiling with Dr. Scott after her checkup. |
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