While a kid with eight teeth hardly needs a dental cleaning, the staff at our dentist's office suggested bringing Jack in during my appointment for a quick peek at his pearly whites so he would be more familiar with the concept when he reappears for a real visit in a couple years.
He loves to say "ahhh" at home. Of course, he wouldn't do it for the dental hygienist. But she still managed to look inside his mouth with a little mirror and pronounce that everything looked good.
The best part for Jack was a new whale bath squirter from the treat box.
The worst part for me was that I let him play with a (clean) wipe in the waiting room (yes, I know, that wouldn't be among the criteria for the Mother of the Year award, but I didn't let him put it in his mouth and I knew it would keep him happy—for a few seconds at least). I saw the dental hygienist, flat on my back, and chatted with her as much as one can while propping one's mouth open, brought Jack in for his little visit, saw the dentist, and went out to the front desk to pay. Only then did I notice the large piece of wipe dangling from my shirt.
22 hours ago