Last Thursday night Benjamin woke up screaming in pain.
I ran upstairs. His body was lurching forward and backward, legs kicking. Finally I calmed him down and said, “Is it your tooth, baby? Does your tooth hurt?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“Okay. Listen. Tomorrow morning, first thing, we’ll go to the Sticker Doctor (the dentist) and he’ll take the tooth away. Alright?”
“Okay, Mommy.” Until then I gave him some Motrin and watched him drift off to sleep.
When we got to the hospital the next morning, the dentist looked at both of us – bracing himself – he remembered us from the last time when Benjamin fought the body wrap with so much strength that he nearly broke free.
Benjamin looked at that long chair and the board they were going to strap him into and then looked at me.
“You’re going to be fine baby,” I’m trying to choke back my own tears because I hate this shit, “You will. You’re going to be brave and strong. And it is going to hurt, but only for a little bit. And when you’re done they’ll give you Thomas stickers, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy.”
And then an entire room of adults were completely humbled and awed by the strength of a little 2-year-old. [click to continue…]
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