Going to see the Dentist, in our family, is generally looked forward to with about as much pleasure as an apointment to be tied to the railroad tracks with the 9’o clock train bearing down.

If fact, I am even now struck by the similarities.

And this last round of visits have been no exception.  I need my seventh (no, that’s not a typo) crown, my dh will be ushered into the fine old club for which a root canal is a prerequisite, and our son teeters on the line of needing to go hunting for his missing permanent tooth or lock his mouth into braces.

So it was with great trepidation that I took our five-year old in today for her first apointment.  I prepped her a bit, but didn’t discuss it too much because I feared my own despair when faced with a dentist chair would taint her experience.

Too my surprise, she hopped into the chair and offered a gleaming mouth of pearly whites like a pro.  She chatted it up with the hygenist, became instant bestfriends with the dentist, and climbed down with a ‘cavity free’ stamp of approval.

Could she have dodged the curse?  Or was it just the stirring of the fates brought on by my having kept my dental phobia to myself?

Either way, I’m feeling like I’ve just been handed up off the tracks and I’m not about to look back.

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