I don't mind going to the dentist, but you should know that my teeth are not the greatest. Both my parents have mouths replete with fillings, and I have some of those genes. I also eat more sugary stuff than I should, but Dave can attest that I really do brush my teeth and floss religiously, and I dutifully schedule my six-month cleanings (even when it sucks up my tiny piece of free time).
However, since I became pregnant with Will, my teeth have been in some sort of super-revolt. Pregnant women are known to have more sensitive gums and softer teeth, and I'm certainly not the exception to that rule. With each pregnancy I've gained a couple new pieces of silver. All this to say, at today's appointment, I had three cavities. THREE.
Silver (no pun intended) lining: My dentist is a two-minute drive from my home; I really like the staff there; if I'm going to have a medical problem, at least it's this one.
When Will started going to preschool in the fall, he happily trotted off to hang out with his friends and teachers, nine days out of ten. When I remarked on it, the director warned me that often the kids who have no transition issues in September pull them out in January instead. I inwardly scoffed. I should have listened to the woman with twenty-five years of experience.
Since Christmas break ended, Will's been crying and saying "I'm nervous" maybe two mornings a week. His teachers send me pictures a few minutes later of him happily playing, and the most irritating part is when I come to pick him up after lunch he crows about how wonderful preschool is. Today when I picked him up, three hours after leaving him tearful at my departure, he literally said to me, "I want to stay at preschool forever. I was just nervous for a second, and then I wasn't anymore!" So I replied, "OK, can you remember that tomorrow morning please?" He agreed, but I'll believe it when I see it.
Silver lining: Per the director's warning, it's normal; at least he's doing it later in the year when I know how much he actually enjoys it, so I'm not second-guessing the preschool itself.
At the end of this long day, I was leaving the Y with Susan, rounding up our various children and winter gear, and I couldn't find Finn's boots. I asked him if he'd been playing with them, we all scoured the family gym, and they were nowhere to be found. Somebody took home (I'm assuming and hoping accidentally) my son's bright blue moon boots. His only pair of winter boots. I'm trying to think positively, that of course the parent who mistakenly put those boots on her kid or didn't notice when the kid put them on will realize and bring them back ASAP. Because if I have to buy a second pair of winter boots so my kid can wear them for maybe another month and then grow out of them forever--I don't know what I'll do.
Silver lining: Oh, gosh, this is going to be a stretch. Okay, how about: It's been a mild winter, so maybe we can get away without replacement boots? I don't know.
Finally, I'm thirty-two weeks along, and I'm finally resigned to the fact that no part of this pregnancy is going to be enjoyable. Even the baby's movements, which of course I love to see and feel, are actually painful. There are knees and elbows stabbing at my belly button and larger body parts jumping on my bladder. My stomach is so compressed that eating is rarely fun and often uncomfortable in the evening hours. I no longer hit a wall of fatigue at four p.m.; now I wake up exhausted and just plod through the day as best I can.
Silver lining: Labor and the newborn phase are no longer sources of anxiety, but pots of gold at the end of the rainbow. At least in my mind. And don't you dare try to take that away from me!
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