Yesterday was Princess S's and Wonderboy's scheduled dental check-ups. Wonderboy loves nothing more than a trip to the dentist. Princess S appeared amenable to the idea (this was not her first time visiting the dentist) and they each left with their respective hygienists while Bubs and I remained in the waiting room. About 20 minutes later however, S's hygienist popped out to say S was having none of it. NONE of it. I walked back with Bubs on my hip to discover her sitting in the dental chair with both hands firmly clapped over her mouth. It seems that our dental visit was the culmination of a week of independence-found for our girl. Starting with sobbing hysterics in Primary last Sunday, sobbing hysterics in dance class on Wednesday, and then her resolute vow not to let the polishing tool (and certainly not the berry-flavored polishing paste!) anywhere near her teeth, I have been privileged to observe my previously rather cooperative and persuadable daughter evolve into a child of such strong will, I'm left utterly bewildered as to how to induce cooperation. She has determined, quite fixedly, that cooperation is for the birds. She will not waste another moment of her life on such nonsense. And at that precise moment of willful determination cemented in place, we found ourselves, not at home where I could dole out the necessary threats and consequences in private, but in a dental office, with Bubs - apparently in cahoots - trying to wrestle his way out of my arms and wreak full Bubs-style havoc on the dental equipment, while I (with voice raised to compete with Bub's screeches of protest) desperately tried to reason (patiently) with her while she coolly refused to even acknowledge me or the wrestling match I was currently occupied by. Finally(!) the hygienist leaves us to it for a moment, at which point I sit on the rolling stool and pin Bubs crushingly between my knees and the dental chair, forcibly shove a paci in his mouth, take S's face between by hands, pry her hands away and with my jaw clenched and the most menacing facial expression I can come up with, I threaten her with her very life that if she does not OPEN HER MOUTH right then and there she will not live to see her 4th birthday. Oh, and I will decapitate her precious 'Bunny'. Literally. Okay, not really. But it was such a desperate moment I did bribe her with lunch at McDonald's. She cheerfully replied, "Oh, I think I'd like to have my teeth polished now. It tickles!"
I am hereby removing her title of Princess S and bequeathing upon her the new title of Miss-Stubborn-and-Impossibly-Bull-Headed-Sassy-Pants.
And here she is unveiling her impossibly shiny teeth. And I have no idea what the punk in the background is doing, but we'll let it slide because he's the only one around here giving me an ounce of cooperation any more. Most of the time.
1 comment:
Come to grandma's dear child. We'll force no such degrading practises upon you. If it makes you feel better, Sophia my strong-willed granchild, your Uncle Chris refused to have his teeth cleaned too. Sad thing-no more free-insurance ride for him. When his teeth rot out-its out of his own pocket from here on out.
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