The Adventures of Having 9 Children
When #7 was just over 2 years old, she knocked her teeth in. Yes, IN. She was wearing crocs, tripped, and hit her face on a wooden, carved chair arm. She was a bloody mess and we looked for her teeth for 45 minutes before giving up. Even though she was the one screaming, I'm not sure who was more upset-my daughter or my husband. Two dentist visits and 6 x-rays later, we discovered that she had slammed her two front teeth upward and cracked the neighboring two as well. All four had to come out.
When a child is that young, they have to be fully sedated for serious dental work. Absolute dread! But they have it down to a science: no food or drink after midnight, arrive early, and they whisk you back to hold your little one on your lap till they get their first hit of sedative. Of course, because of my eldest daughter's bad reaction to anesthesia, my trepidation began to multiply as I sat in the candy colored waiting room with my 11 year old, who had come to help with the baby.
So, it turned out that #7 is a fighter, too. When she woke up, she came out shrieking. The dentist was so kind, trying to be heard over the ruckus, saying, "she did so well," or at least I think that's what she said. To try and calm my daughter down and help soothe the terrified kids on the other side of the door, I sat in her dental chair and held her on my lap. Soon I began to feel a warm sensation seeping across my hips and down my legs. As each minute passed, I started to sweat as more of my body became soaked in urine. When we finally could leave, I looked back at the seat and saw an inch deep pool of pee in the seat's curved indentation. The stream spilling off the two off us didn't seem to daunt the happily chatting dental assistant, not even when the trail of urine left a pungent odor wafting up from the carpet.
By the time we got to the elevator even my socks were soaked, but I was so relieved that my daughter had finally passed out on my shoulder. So short lived. Two very well dressed gentlemen came out of the office next door (one a former Washington Redskin) who gallantly held the door for us, insisting we get on first. Couldn't hide the squelching my shoes were making, or the huge urine sponge my body had become as they walked in behind us. Or the still dripping carcass of my daughter. They were so kind, admiring the baby my 11 year old was bouncing up and down, smiling and making small talk while pee dribbled off my fingers. Of course, they once again politely held the elevator door and then wished us a beautiful day. Glancing back, I saw them gingerly step over the steaming puddle we had left behind. We laughed all the way home.