Teeth. I freakin hate 'em. I have teeth issues that need to be rectified just as soon as the ol' FSA is all shiny and new again in January. I've always had teeth 'issues'... really just cosmetic as I grew up. My mom and dad just didn't find 'teeth' to be much of a priority. My one dentist visit as a child came after I finally met quota on complaints and got to have a cavity filled. The cosmetic part bothered me as a teen. I told myself I could just make it my thing... like Madonna or David Letterman. I grew out of caring much. Hey, I got dates. The Hubs didn't seem to mind. I was cool til one night out with my older sister, a friend of hers got a little tipsy and said, "I just love your little crooked tooth". Who says that? Conscious of it all over again. MY. LITTLE. CROOKED. TOOTH. Teeth. I hate talking about them. I hate looking at them. I hate the dentist.
I was peacefully slumbering this morning til my lights came on full blast. "Sorry, mom. I've got to show you something and you are going to think it's cool." I highly doubted it. ...til he showed me.
I remember sitting in mass one morning as a youngin'. Praying to the Lord Baby Jesus that he would simply just let my tooth fall out. All on it's own. Without my help. 'I will do ANYTHING." I thought, "Clean the house! Be nice to my brother and sister! I won't complain anymore! ANYTHING! Just let it fall out!" I hated losing teeth. It was gross and disgusting to me. What was worse was that I put off pulling this one so long it was now turning blue. uh-oh.
Mayhaps prayers were answered. As I lay on the downstairs couch peacefully watching television, my father snuck up behind me. Armed with pliers, he popped the little sucker right out of my skull. Did I freak out? Of course I freaked the eff out. But what was done was done. Sigh of relief.
BUT WAIT, the sicko wanted more. He had the taste of popping teeth and must've decided he liked it. He went on to the next one.
"It's not even loose!" I tried to scream.
Wiggle. Wiggle. Wiggle.
Let's just say I sulked a bit after this incident. And vowed to myself I would never tell my parents I had a loose tooth again. ...barring any blue-ness giving me away...
So now you have both the reason I have one crooked front tooth and a deep fear of loose teeth. I have also already been told Coop has 'really crowded teeth'. My brain, while happy for the kid, also went immediately to "dear God! braces! money! appointments! frazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzled."
I put on quite the excited mommy face: "That is awesome, Coop! Time to eat some apples!"
Time to freak the eff out.