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At the dentist today, Liberty needed to get a cavity filled on her upper back molar. She's my uber-compliant child, so I didn't worry too much about how she would behave in The Chair. I did worry, however, when the dentist informed me that I could not stay in the little room with her. In their experience, children sit better when their parents are not in sight. Plus, I had squirmy Mercy, my NON-compliant child, with me.
It's a small office, and I was amused and relieved to realize that Loquacious Liberty's voice could be heard all the way in the front waiting room. Unfortunately, Sesame Street on the television prevented me from hearing her exact words, but the receptionist, whom I could see through the little glass doors, did not have that problem. She sat typing at her computer, and from time to time she would giggle to herself at something she heard Liberty say in the back room. Her amusement amused me, as did the torrent of words pouring from Liberty's mouth with no break for breath.
After about fifteen minutes, the voice stopped, and I thought about worrying, then I realized the dentist must have had her hand in Liberty's mouth. An appropriate amount of time passed for a cavity to be filled. Then the waiting room door opened, and the dental assistant gently led my daughter to me. I searched Liberty's face to see what she had thought of her dental visit. She looked pleasantly spacey, and she sounded unusually quiet.
The assistant explained, "She's still a little woozy. We had to give her a bit of gas."
"Gas?" I questioned.
The assistant laughed slightly. "Your daughter is amazing. What a little trooper! She was braver than most adults we see, and so happy to be at the dentist. But we couldn't get her to stop talking long enough to work on her teeth..."
Later tonight, when I repeated the story to my dad, he laughed, too. "Sounds just like another little girl I used to know."
I grinned. I clearly remember my dentist asking me why I was "so darn happy" when I was about seven, and my dad leaning into my line of sight with an amused look on his face to kindly request that I stop talking for just a little bit so the dentist could do his job.
It's a small office, and I was amused and relieved to realize that Loquacious Liberty's voice could be heard all the way in the front waiting room. Unfortunately, Sesame Street on the television prevented me from hearing her exact words, but the receptionist, whom I could see through the little glass doors, did not have that problem. She sat typing at her computer, and from time to time she would giggle to herself at something she heard Liberty say in the back room. Her amusement amused me, as did the torrent of words pouring from Liberty's mouth with no break for breath.
After about fifteen minutes, the voice stopped, and I thought about worrying, then I realized the dentist must have had her hand in Liberty's mouth. An appropriate amount of time passed for a cavity to be filled. Then the waiting room door opened, and the dental assistant gently led my daughter to me. I searched Liberty's face to see what she had thought of her dental visit. She looked pleasantly spacey, and she sounded unusually quiet.
The assistant explained, "She's still a little woozy. We had to give her a bit of gas."
"Gas?" I questioned.
The assistant laughed slightly. "Your daughter is amazing. What a little trooper! She was braver than most adults we see, and so happy to be at the dentist. But we couldn't get her to stop talking long enough to work on her teeth..."
Later tonight, when I repeated the story to my dad, he laughed, too. "Sounds just like another little girl I used to know."
I grinned. I clearly remember my dentist asking me why I was "so darn happy" when I was about seven, and my dad leaning into my line of sight with an amused look on his face to kindly request that I stop talking for just a little bit so the dentist could do his job.
What a awesome STORY..
Funny!