Today you went to the dentist. I hated that you had to go. I tried really hard not to show you how completely un-cool with dentists I am. I don't think you fell for it.
You have a mysterious place in your mouth that looks like a canker sore. You have had it for months and your doctor initially thought it was just a blister that you kept biting as you gnaw on everything. This week, she thought we should go ahead and get it checked out. So, we found a pediatric dentist and off we went.
Your dad and I took you into the lobby. They had games! They had toys! They had an awesome tree maze on the wall where you slid the little bugs around the tree trunk with your little hands.
Then they called us back.
You sat in my lap on a big cushion seat and laid your head back into the dentist's lap. She was very gentle and reassuring to you, but you screamed like she was pulling out all your teeth anyway.
She got out her dental book and showed us pictures. She sent you to the oral surgeon to make sure she was right. She didn't charge us for our visit and gave you a sticker.
I wanted to ask her if she saw 31-year-olds, but your dad thought that might not be a good idea.
The oral surgeon visit went better. Your dad took you back and held you. Apparently, you turn on the screaming drama for my benefit. Who knew?
The oral surgeon confirmed that you have a clogged salivatory gland. He and the army of your dad will be removing this gland in two weeks. It's supposed to be NOT A BIG DEAL.
They won't numb you or anything. Just snip and it's over.
Your dad doesn't want me to go. He says he can't handle us both.
I hate this is happening to you, but it could be so much worse. So, at least we are grateful for that.