This week, we needed to visit the orthodontist for the first time, to deal with an issue our daughter is having with her teeth. Apparently, her front baby teeth are very happy where they are, while the adult teeth are trying desperately to come through. Wiggle though I might, I have not been able to loosen them enough to pop out, and now we've learned that even if they did decide to let go, there isn't enough room in our little one's mouth to accommodate the much larger grown up teeth. According to the very kindly orthodontist (seriously, he was a super nice guy, the type of person who could make you relax in the midst of the house burning down), crowding of the teeth is usually caused by the hereditary issue of a small mouth. Interestingly, the doctor looked at me when he said this, at which time I admitted that, yes, our family is the side cursed with having a small oral cavity. That said, I'm fairly sure there are times when my husband would argue the issue of how small my mouth really is.
The skinny of the situation is that four baby teeth will need to be extracted, the thought of which makes me cringe. Even though the doctor assured us that in the case of baby teeth such a procedure takes very little time, I have a feeling that this is one of those occasions when one minute will seem to equal ten. Half jokingly, I asked the secretary scheduling appointments if the parents could have some nitrous oxide while the teeth are being pulled. She laughed quite loudly and said that she'd never heard anyone ask that question before, but I'm sure that the prospect of watching a dentist yank out several of one's child's teeth is enough to make any parent reach for a sedative. While I know this is being done to help my daughter, there lives within me a primal urge to attack anyone causing her violence, and though my rational mind will prevent this from happening, the sick, uncomfortable feeling will remain. I feel terrible that she has to go through this, but after talking with the orthodontist and viewing the x-rays of our daughter's mouth, my husband and I both understood why this is the best course of action. (Insert heavy sigh.)
Driving home, I reflected on how it must feel for a parent to experience a real illness with a child. Suddenly, I felt grateful that it's only a tooth extraction that our daughter has to go through, and that what we're having done is certain to improve the situation at hand.
I realized with great clarity that the more I fuss about this situation, the more frightening it will be for my daughter, and that although I want to protect her from every manner of uncomfortable problem, matters are going to arise in her life that are going to be difficult. Part of being a parent is supporting our kids through the pitfalls of life, gathering together our own fears and not over dramatizing. Part of being a parent is making decisions that are for the best interest of our children even when at first glance they seem unacceptable. Two days ago I was crowing that nobody was going to pull four teeth from my little girl's tiny mouth. Today, I understood that not doing so will create much more harm for her than the relatively short period of soreness she will have to endure.
So, now I'm breathing, staying in the moment, and just trying to:
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