I wasn’t planning to write again for a few days, since I wanted to spend the next few nights catching up on some reading before all the awesome fall TV shows begin and my brain reverts to its television-induced mush state. Oh, and by “catch up” on reading, I mean read my first book in about six months. Fellow book nerds, I apologize. Kids are the anti-hobby.
Anyway, so I wasn’t planning to write a new blog today but this week was just so amusingly eventful that this bad boy practically wrote itself.
It all started last Saturday night, when Little M, who is FIVE, got his first set of digits from a girl at a birthday party for one of Big M’s coworkers. The little stud doesn’t even know his OWN phone number yet and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even realize that phones exist for reasons other than playing Angry Birds and Temple Run. But he knows one thing now for sure: when you get a girl’s number in front of a bunch of grown men, you get A LOT of high fives.
It was seriously the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I overheard him and his new friend talking at some point, and she was telling him that she slayed a pretend dragon for him or something. Before I could even mutter an “awww” she grabbed an empty envelope off of a table and penciled her name and phone number for Little M, complete with a little stick figure picture of them together. He said to her “you can call me ANYTIME.” Can we say cuteness OVERLOAD? I was dying.
And Little D was so excited about the whole thing that she dove right into a giant slab of concrete, face first, and has been rocking a rather large, ugly gash on her nose ever since.
The excitement for Little M didn’t last long, though, because on Sunday he began to complain that his throat hurt and he refused to eat. Turns out that after a whopping one whole week back to school he managed to catch coxsackie. For those of you who have never heard of this poorly-named ailment, it’s basically a virus that causes children to develop giant, painful sores all over their mouth and throat and is usually caused by touching dirty things. I guess Little M’s designated cubby wasn’t properly disinfected for the beginning of school. Or maybe he licked the slide at the playground. You never really know with little kids.
On Monday, Little D ripped the scab off her nose and threw it at Big M. Then she ripped off her fresh band-aid and threw it at Little M.
Fine, then. Bleed. Your decision, not mine.
On Wednesday, Big M found Little M watching Breaking Bad on Netflix. We usually let him watch Netflix in his room for a little while at night, and since we live in an apartment that is just a bit larger than a celebrity’s walk-in closet, we can always hear his TV and know what he is watching. Well, that day I guess I was too absorbed in the season finale of Big Brother my reading to hear someone being called an “ass clown” inside his bedroom.
Whoops. Parenting fail.
On Thursday, Little D whacked Big M in the head with a giant xylophone while he was asleep on the couch. It was kind of brutal to watch for a minute there, but he was totally fine. Maybe she has some kind of ESP going on and heard me calling him a lazy bastard in my head.
But getting hit with this thing had to hurt:
The week came to a colorful end on Friday at the kids’ dental checkups with what I’ll now refer to as the worst five minutes of my life.
Little M went in first. He is a total pro by now because we have been going every six months since his second birthday like clockwork. HAHA!! I couldn’t even write that without laughing. The dentist’s exact words at his last visit were “you can bring him every six months if you want, but once a year is fine.” Um, who the hell is voluntarily bringing their kid to the dentist more often than necessary?? So it was really just his second visit but I wasn’t worried because he is always an awesome patient. I honestly don’t even know how we are related, because I almost fainted in the middle of having a cavity filled recently and I’m also probably on some secret bad-patient list circulating around the medical community, Elaine Bennice-style. But I digress. My son is an awesome patient; the kid once took three staples to the head after a bad fall without blinking an eye. He rocks. Unless we are talking about cutting his toenails. Then he sucks.
Little D went next, and she’s more of an unpredictable patient. I mean, she’s not even two yet, so I knew it would be no walk in the park. But this was wayyyy worse than I could have ever imagined.
Just so you know that I’m not a monster, she had an issue with teeth staining (which turned out to be from her poly-vi-sol vitamins, FYI) and I was concerned. I probably wouldn’t have taken her to the dentist yet otherwise. I know they say to bring your baby to the dentist like when the first tooth pops out, but do people actually do that? I suspect not, because the PEDIATRIC dental assistant looked at her like she’d never seen a baby before in her life.
So I didn’t realize he was planning to physically remove the stains from her teeth right then and there until it all started happening. With sharp, scary, buzzing and whirring tools on her little, teeny, tiny, baby teeth. The dentist and I sat across from each other and held down her little flailing twenty-pound body while she screamed and cried and gagged and choked and then bit him repeatedly for about five excruciating minutes. Halfway through it I think I might have begun screaming too. When she started desperately calling out “mommy” through sad little gasps and gurgles, I think I lost my shit.
When it was all over she immediately hugged me and stopped crying, then my sweet little baby girl smiled big and said “thanks” for her new toothbrush, then waved and called “buh-bye, see you!” through big, puffy, tear-stained cheeks.
Major melting mommy moment.
As we walked out, we caught some of the annoyed-looking people in the waiting room breathing a sigh of relief to see us go. Sorry that my daughter being tortured was unpleasant to your ears, assholes. Hope you enjoy your root canals.
Oh, and he told me to have her come back in six months. Um, we’ll see.
UPDATE: It’s Saturday night and apparently the crazy week isn’t over yet. Little D just took a dirty diaper out of the garbage, opened it, and threw poop all over her bedroom.
I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.