Anti-Dentite

I feel relatively good about myself as a human being most of the time, but twice a year my self-esteem takes a plummet and I begin to question my own value.

It's the dentist.

I strongly dislike the dentist.

I went to my six month check-up today, and even though I was deemed cavity-free, I still walked out feeling no better than a dirty piece of rotten garbage. Because no matter how straight and white my teeth may be, it's never good enough.

I want so badly to please my dental hygienist. I want her to praise me, to marvel at the wonder of my pristine mouth. But no, it's always "This spot looks a little dark" or "How often are you flossing?"

You guys, I practice decent oral care. I brush twice a day, and floss at night. Isn't that enough? Are the rest of you brushing and flossing three times a day, and in comparison I'm a dirty hobo? (No offense, hobos?)

Have you ever had the soul-crushing "flossing lesson" where they make you look in the mirror while they floss your teeth, just to make sure you "get it?"

Me neither.

I just hate sitting tipped back in that chair, mouth open, blood rushing to my head, awaiting judgment. The poking, the prodding . . . every time that little hooks sticks ever so slightly in my molar I hear a "hm" noise as she writes something scathing on the little chart: 

Gross build-up on 12 bilateral - probably due to a combination of laziness and gluttony. 

And there's nothing I can do but lay there, defenseless, with drool on my chin.

I assume it's like this for everyone? Right? RIGHT?

I'm so self-conscious right now.

Well the good news is I was released today with no cavities or follow-up appointments. But I did have a few teeth put on the "watch list," which basically means they don't have cavities now, but I can plan on them having cavities next time. So . . . I have that going for me.

I'm going to go drink Listerine.

Frankel Rock

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It’s teething season in our household! That means lots of crying, diaper rash and – if we’re lucky – diarrhea. We’re in a good place.

As I watch my son’s teeth slowly break through the surface, I am concerned about the pain it causes him. However, I am even more concerned about the placement of these new teeth. You see, when my spouse and I decided to procreate, we accepted the possibility that our children would inherit my teeth. This was not a decision to be taken lightly, as my teeth are deeply troubled on a psychological level.

I don’t even know where to begin when it comes to the woes of my orthodontic past. It’s one of those topics where I have trouble deciding what is interesting to everyone, and what is interesting only to me. That said, I will stick to the facts.

FACT: I had perfect baby teeth.

FACT: Once those teeth began falling out, all hell broke lose.

FACT: When I was six years old, an orthodontist put me in braces (including my remaining baby teeth).

FACT: When I was eight years old, I wore a frankel (pictured below).

FACT: My frankel was rainbow-colored with sparkles.

FACT: I still have it (pictured below).

FACT: My son plays with it because he doesn’t know how gross that is.

FACT: When I was nine years old, I had the rest of my baby teeth forcibly removed from my mouth and put into a small envelope.

FACT: When I was ten years old, two fake teeth were attached to my braces to fill in the gaps where the teeth did not grow back after the forced removal.

FACT: When I was thirteen years old, my orthodontist admitted he had no idea what he was doing and recommended I have my jaw reset through surgery.

FACT: For six weeks my jaw was wired shut so the bones could heal.

FACT: I had to eat Thanksgiving dinner through a syringe.

FACT: The oral maxillofacial surgeons who performed the surgery managed to undo all the bush-league orthodontics I’d been put through over the past eight years, and I was able to get my braces off before entering high school.

FACT: With no braces to hold my fake teeth, I got a retainer with teeth attached to it.

FACT: I used to take my teeth out as a party trick.

FACT: I did not get invited to a lot of parties.

FACT: People called me “McTeeth.”

FACT: After high school, I got “implants” (kind of like breast implants) and now my smile is like that of a real girl.

THESE ARE ALL FACTS.

It should go without saying that all of this cost my parents quite a lot of money. The kind of money that I’m just not sure I have on me at the moment. So please, please Lord, let my sons inherit the straight, cavity-free, fully-intact teeth of their father. They can inherit my razor-sharp wit [toenails].

If anyone would like to borrow my frankel, please let me know.