I've started to worry about Firecracker's teeth. As a baby she wouldn't let anyone near her mouth--a response to being intubated after birth. It took a lot of coaxing to start a brushing routine. For a while the electric toothbrush was a wonder, but then she started to dislike it's vibration, and the head is a bit too big for her mouth. Brushing sessions sound like this:
Me: Let Mommy brush your teeth now.
Firecracker: Do it MYSELF!
Me: Okay, but let me finish up.
Firecracker: NO! MYSELF! (proceeds to lick off toothpaste and chew on bristles)
Some negotiation later:
Me: Open wide! (I brush as gently as possible with a disabled electric toothbrush)
Firecracker: Ouch. Ow. Ouch.
Me: Just a bit more--open wide.
Firecracker: Ow. Ow. Ow. DONE!
The other day I thought I spotted two little brown dots on her upper teeth. Horrors! Since DramaQueen had to have two root canals at the age of three (I swear, I did brush them every day and I didn't give her lots of sweets!). I decided it was time to take more agressive action. Flouride rinse. Floss every day, not just when I can wheedle her into it. New toothbrush with smaller head.
So last night Dear Husband came home with a special toothbrush for Firecracker. It's a Hot Wheels toothbrush. The handle swerves like a racetrack and has a racecar at the bottom. You should have seen Firecracker's face light up. "Hu-way! Hu-way! Hu-way!" she cried, doing her special happy dance. I had to open it right away and brush her teeth. Several times.
I think she likes this toothbrush more than all her Christmas and Chanukah presents put together. She fell asleep with it clasped in one hand, and she was inconsolable this morning when she woke up and it wasn't there (Bad Mommy had put it away) until it was once again where it truly belonged--her hand.
I didn't know there were so many aspects to dental hygiene.