The Dentist Appointment

Earlier this week I took Anna to the dentist for the first time.
(Yes, I am embarrassed that it took so long for this to happen.)

But nonetheless: everything is just fine, and this despite the fact that the dentist explained to me that giving your kids raisins for a snack and not having them brush immediately afterwards is much, much closer to packing their teeth in sugar every night than I had ever imagined. Note to self.

But just as interesting as my raisin education was the concept of a pediatric dentist.
'Pediatric' in this sense is defined as:
(1) health care professional who has TV screens on the ceiling. So that your child can watch Dora, or Thomas the Tank Engine, or Ariel, or just about any other Nickelodeon- or Disney- based creation while being worked on with invasive metallic tools. And, secondly,
(2) health care professional who will not let your child be bothered by that oppressive light they turn on right above your face. Someone who provides a selection of plastic sunglasses in shades of pink, green, and blue to wear while being worked on with invasive metal tools.

This dentist was very nice.
While his assistant was doing the initial work, he wandered over to me and asked for some family dental "practices and history". This is when I got the bad news about raisins.
I told him about my braces. I went on record with the number of cavities I have and the fact that I am not such a great flosser.

But mark my words: no matter how many Princess stickers and Diego tooth brushes he offers to Anna (she had a fabulous time there, by the way),
I will NEVER
EVER
EVER
admit to the headgear.