Everyone knows that life as a Mommy is wildly glamorous. Or something…
Today was one of those glamorous, fancy days. Call me crazy, but I have always loved having my teeth cleaned. I’ve shared, previously, how a visit to the densist’s office sans children is comparable to a trip to the spa. SANS CHILDREN. I don’t know how I spaced that critical detail, but this time round some genius (me) decided that all three kiddos should tag along to get it over with in one fell swoop. Adios insurance-covered spa day.
I spent the entirety of the appointment with a captivated Little Man perched on my lap, enrapt by the array of gadgets employed to undo the damage that five months engrossed in the rearing of said toddler has done to my once-pearly-whites. The girls took turns in the adjacent seat, where I overhead each defer all responsibility for the health of their OWN mouths by throwing me under the bus for failing to sufficiently stock flossers in the house. With instruments busy at work in my mouth, squirmy toddler on my lap, I couldn’t even attempt to defend myself.
I’ll just level with you: My teeth have gone to hell in a hand-basket. I blame Little Man. I’ve decided this is yet another striking parallel between pregnancy and adoption, as we’ve all heard the claim that carrying children gives you cavities. It was true for me, I had my first cavity at twenty-three years young, while pregnant with our oldest. When gently asked today about my flossing habits, I could only muster a laugh. Some day… some day I will floss regularly again…
Wah, wah, wah… poor me. Anyone who really knows me, knows I actually adore this crazy life of mine.
What else is new:
Since we continued the girls’ home-education through the summer, we didn’t have the customary “first day of school” photo-op– save for the girls’ first day of PE at a private, Christian school just down the road from us, where they’ll participate a couple days a week, this year.