Oh, the trauma.
Bubba had 4... One. Two. Three. FOUR. teeth pulled today (and a filling)! Unfortunately, he loves the dentist as much as I do (which is to say we would both rather NOT) and the thought of it caused him to break out in hives all week. Well, that's what I think it was, he doesn't have food or any other types of allergies and all of a sudden the day before yesterday he has hives all over...
Anyway, we ventured out to the dentist for what I would consider a major mouth overhaul. Two teeth on the top and two teeth on the bottom, all in the name of making room for the big 'uns trying to come in. I figured he'd need me close, physically, but not that I would be so traumatized.
I sat by his side and held his hand, or rather, he SQUEEZED the ever-lovin everything out of mine. Occasionally, I had to hold down his legs because they wanted to curl up. I had to close my eyes. Duck my head. Couldn't even watch the dentist pluck them out. I wasn't actually sure I would make it without vomiting. But I did. I did NOT make it without crying and I am still on the verge now. I HATED seeing him so uncomfortable. KNOWING how much I hate having stuff like that done in my mouth. I could just go cry for a few hours and then sleep for the rest of the day to get away from how bad I feel for making him do it.
In hopes of making us feel better, we went shopping! He got new Lego's and Avatar and modeling clay. (And he still expects the Tooth Fairy to show up tonite.) I don't feel any better, maybe I need to go to Maurices tonite?
I don't think I can do it again. Teeth pulling is going to have to be a Dad Job. Sorry Honey.