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Dear Miles,

Dear Miles,

May 30, 2008

Dear Miles,

Today you had your first dental check-up and teeth cleaning. Something you will be doing every six months for the rest of your life. Except for those years when you will invariably think that you are invincible and don’t need regular check-ups. I hope you skip over that stage, but I know from experience that all of us go through it. Just takes one root canal to snap you into shape.


You were too cute for words. Honestly. You sat in the chair like a such a big boy. You opened your mouth and let the dentist do everything…polish your teeth, scrape them with the little pick thing, rinse your mouth out and suck the water up with Mr. Thirsty. They don’t have very high expectations for three year olds and you surpassed them all. Even mine. If parenting for thirteen years has taught me anything it is to have low expectations.

You are the typical loose canon that all three year old children are. I can never be sure what will set you off. Is the sun shining too bright? Did a breeze blow through your room? Are the planets out of alignment? There is no rhyme or reason to it. In fact I could guarantee that if we went back to the dentist today that you would refuse to sit in the chair, refuse to open your mouth, and kick the dentist in the shins.

Accepting this fact keeps me humble. When people congratulate me on having such a well behaved three year old, I can assure them that anything having to do with a three year old is a crap shoot and it has nothing really to do with me. I know all too well how quickly things can deteriorate.

Yesterday, I got lucky.


You especially loved the “hand resters” and kept your hands on them the entire time, even though it did not appear to be at all a restful position.


Mostly you just smiled. You flashed those dimples. You made everyone fall in love with you.


Then when it was over you grabbed your goodie bag filled with new toothpaste, a brand new toothbrush, some floss that will never see the inside of your mouth before you unwind it and wrap it around the house. You ran down the hallway the little white bag swinging beside you, probably off to grow up some more and break my heart.


Posted by Chris @ 10:00 am  

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