I was not exactly looking forward to my appointment for a wisdom tooth extraction. The appointment got off to a great start when he had to re-do the x-rays of the previous visit. This involves him shoving x-ray ‘stuff’ at the back of my mouth and asking me to “bite down”. It involves me retching and gagging every time I try to “bite down”. By the time the painless bit of the appointment is done, my eyes are streaming, I am a hot sweaty mess, and it is down to sheer luck that I am not covered in my own regurgitated breakfast. My dentist tells me I am not his worst patient. I’m not entirely sure I believe him.
All the while I’m in the chair I have a little mantra going around my head; “You’ve been through labour. Twice. You can do this”. Only problem is there is no gas and air. And when I’m 4 foot off the ground in the dentist chair and he is literally hanging his entire body weight from my wisdom tooth with a pair of what can only be described as pliers, I think I’d rather have my leg in stirrups with a bunch of strangers staring at my lady garden and talking about “crowning” and “episiotomy”. At least I’d get something cute at the end of it and a load of presents.
But no, apparently teeth do not come out as easily as the ‘one punch’ in the movies would have you believe, After twenty minutes of a rather strenuous work out on my dentists part, and talk of “not being able to remove all of it” and “cutting the bone”, at the end of it, all I have is a very swollen face and lots and lots of pain. And I had to pay for the torture.
You can’t go home and curl up under a duvet watching trashy TV. Well you can, but the small people are likely to bounce on your head and repeatedly ask for Peppa Pig to be put on.
It hurts to talk so you can’t tell the small people off and end up watching Peppa Pig on repeat for some peace.
There’s a high risk of an over-excited toddler shoving his fingers in your mouth or beating you round the face with a book.
The only thing you can eat is bananas. As with all food you eat around small people, you must share. So you are now sharing the only thing you can eat. And because you can only eat slowly they have devoured the whole thing in the time it has taken you to have one mouthful. One very small mouthful.
Other people still need to eat something over than bananas, so you get to make lovely meals that you can’t eat even though you are bloody starving.
You run out of milk so have to get yourself dressed and drag your arse and the small people to the shops. This sucks even more when you drink your tea black and have no use for the milk yourself.
Small people ask a gazillion questions a day, and “yes” and “no” answers are not satisfying them right now. Now, when it feels like you have been repeatedly punched in the face. When every word you say makes you want to rip your face off. Now, they chose to ask deep and insightful questions about God, life, love and the universe.
Your small people make you smile. A lot. It hurts to smile. A lot.
You are on antibiotics so cannot look forward to a glass of wine once the kids are in bed.
There’s a high probability you are going to have to drag your throbbing face to a children’s party full of screaming small people.
So there you go people. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
This post was inspired by real life events, although I should thank my husband for allowing me to hide in our bedroom for twenty four hours whilst he took care of the small people. I had a Twitter conversation with Prabs from Absolutely Prabulous, who said she couldn’t see me writing a funny post about having my wisdom tooth removed. I accepted her challenge. It’s up to you if you think it’s funny, although if you don’t, be nice, remember I’ve just had my wisdom tooth removed.
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