OK, so that title is mainly melodrama.  If you know me at all, you know that I love to jazz up a story.  Stories are stories and so a little hyperbole goes a long way, to my way of thinking.  Fortunately, the JoyBoy is resoundingly with me on this, so we are the perfect audience for one another's story shenanigans.  Suffice it to say, you've been forewarned.  Take what follows with a grain of salt:

 Today Anabel and I spent the morning at the dentist's for round two of molar removal in preparation for her braces, which are soon to follow.  I'm all for uglification when it comes to beautiful little girls on the very cusp of adolescence.  Plus there's the straight teeth to be taken into account, but really, the uglification is  my main focus just now.  So, we spent our time and another nearly $300 having two molars extracted.  As we made our way up to the dentist's third story office, we went back to back and realized to Anabel's triumphant delight that she's very nearly my height now.  At the ripe old age of 12, I might add.  (As a life-long shorty who actually had relatives in the early days of her development suspect she might be a Little Person, I've always hoped that my children would far exceed me in the height department and so to see it come to pass is quite a thrill for us both.)  So we were ushered right in, which is good, as it minimized the wait-time full of trepidation.  And since we were here just last week doing the very same thing, trepidation there was.  We dropped Oliver off in the Thomas-the-Tank-Engine wait area, where he immediately gaped in wonder at the television on the ceiling.  First off, it was a television.  Second, it was on the ceiling.  For a boy who's only ever seen about 25 library DVD's in all of their scratched glory, he was spellbound.  I knew then that I could focus my primary attentions on the Eldest.  And when one's Youngest is a closet world dictator and/or leader (let's keep our fingers crossed!) named Oliver, that peace of mind really means something. 

Our beloved dentist (He really is beloved.  I didn't know there could be such a thing before we found him.) gave Anabel a disconcerting number of injections in order to numb her impending doom.  From his repeated way of doing so, I had to wonder if maybe she wasn't  requiring a bit more than the average child of that age.  She was finally appropriately insensible to the pain that was soon to be and the dentist used a series of three different tools to wrench those enormous molars out of her jaw.  They really are enormous.  Before Anabel's braces prep, I'd never seen a molar with root intact.  You can hardly believe it.  The roots are larger than the molar itself and that's pretty impressive.  So for all her trouble, she got to take these magnificent  little nuggets along.   If it were me, I'd be proudly displaying them to all  mankind, but Anabel is - and always has been - more discreet and modest than I.  She'll probably show three or four close girlfriends and be done with it.  And now next month - braces.  I'll keep you posted.
 





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