Chloë had her first dentist appointment this past Tuesday. It was a very cheerful place, with trees painted on the walls and stuffed animals (and a mobile clock) hanging everywhere in the waiting room. In the actual work area there were more paintings and pictures, and a long strip of pacifiers that the dentists had bought from the kids.
Chloë currently has eight teeth, and the gums over her first molars are showing signs of being stretched tight, the dentist said. He wants us to floss between her two first teeth, because they're touching. I think he's funny. Floss her teeth? When we can't even get in there to brush them half the time lately?
He used the "lap method" to examine her mouth, which involved having her sit on my lap facing me and then lowering her to be supine on his lap, with his hands around her jaw. She screamed. A lot. She hated the taste of the toothpaste (we verified this later by putting the tiniest bit on her toothbrush at home, which he'd suggested), she hated having her mouth pried open, she hated having this strange man peering into her face and scrubbing at her precious teeth.
"Bringing her in early will make her more willing to go to the dentist later in life," he said. I was skeptical, what with all the screaming. She was appeased by the duck offering at the end, though. Perhaps we'll return. (What's with the ducks?)