Our family is having a whopper of a summer as far as our teeth are concerned. My cavities were filled in January, but I need to see a periodontist about getting some gums grafted on a spot where I injured my gums years ago. Hubby cracked off the side of a molar the night before last and is in Houston on business. We're hoping he can be seen between trips. Little Girl had a filling this morning (she was very brave); it was her first. And, the coup de gras was Big Girl's dental adventure while we were in Florida on vacation. (I am positive I will be in trouble for mentioning this here.)
Big Girl was swimming in my parents' pool, and she went underwater with her eyes closed. (This was our third day with them, a Friday afternoon.) She swam straight into the side of the pool with her face. This would not have been bad in our own above-ground pool, but it was not a good idea in the in-ground pool at Mom and Dad's. She chipped her front tooth. A permanent tooth.
Obviously, this hurt quite a bit, and I took her inside the house to change while my mother called dentists in the area to see if anyone could take her immediately. In between, she told me to calm down and stop upsetting Big Girl, who was beside herself in terror. (She didn't know it could be fixed, it hurt like hell, and it is a permanent tooth, so she was certain she would have a permanently chipped front tooth, if they could even save it. In her mind, either it would be chipped or completely gone forever.) "It's just a bump, Big Girl, calm down!"
Well, one thing you don't want to do to an upset eight-year-old is tell her that her broken tooth is "just a little bump!" This comment, each time it was made, was met with screaming by Big Girl.
"IT IS NOT JUST A BUMP!!! MY TOOTH IS BROKEN, GRANDMA!!!!!"
No one could see us on the Friday afternoon just after Independence Day (imagine!), but one dentist could see us the next morning. Bonus number one: she accepted our insurance. Bonus number two: she seemed unfazed about the prospect of fixing the tooth of a slightly hysterical eight-year-old.
What a start to Little Girl's birthday, which was that Saturday. She begins by Mommy and Daddy leaving with her sister to go to the dentist! (What a good sport she was, though. She even promised to pray for Big Girl while we were gone.)
The dental techs and the dentist were absolutely wonderful to Big Girl. They let me come back with her into the exam room, they explained everything before and during the procedures, and the dentist told Big Girl that she'd done the exact same thing when she was eight. Same tooth, too! No one would ever guess that she chipped a tooth, let alone be able to pick it out! (Even our regular dentist didn't really notice which one it was until Big Girl told him today.)
Later, I asked Big Girl how she felt about my reaction, which was a very controlled freak-out. She said she was glad I acted as I did because it let her know that I (and I'll quote here for the full effect):
"...really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really ... 'two years later' ... really, really, really, really, really, really cared."
(Gotta love the SpongeBob reference!)
Grandma, on the other hand, made her more upset by downplaying what happened because it made Big Girl feel like she didn't think it was a big deal.
So there you have it. Sometimes, it's a very good thing to have a little bit of a freak-out when your kids get hurt! I have thought a lot about what Big Girl told me, and I decided that what comforted her most was that my reaction was much more natural than telling her that it was "just a little bump." It obviously wasn't a little bump, and by freaking out just a little bit (but remaining in control overall), I was with her in her panic. I wasn't some passive observer without an invested interest in the situation. I think that by freaking out with her, though not on the same level, let her know that she wasn't going to have to deal with it alone.
(Updates later with the x-rays!)
Christine
Big Girl was swimming in my parents' pool, and she went underwater with her eyes closed. (This was our third day with them, a Friday afternoon.) She swam straight into the side of the pool with her face. This would not have been bad in our own above-ground pool, but it was not a good idea in the in-ground pool at Mom and Dad's. She chipped her front tooth. A permanent tooth.
Obviously, this hurt quite a bit, and I took her inside the house to change while my mother called dentists in the area to see if anyone could take her immediately. In between, she told me to calm down and stop upsetting Big Girl, who was beside herself in terror. (She didn't know it could be fixed, it hurt like hell, and it is a permanent tooth, so she was certain she would have a permanently chipped front tooth, if they could even save it. In her mind, either it would be chipped or completely gone forever.) "It's just a bump, Big Girl, calm down!"
Well, one thing you don't want to do to an upset eight-year-old is tell her that her broken tooth is "just a little bump!" This comment, each time it was made, was met with screaming by Big Girl.
No one could see us on the Friday afternoon just after Independence Day (imagine!), but one dentist could see us the next morning. Bonus number one: she accepted our insurance. Bonus number two: she seemed unfazed about the prospect of fixing the tooth of a slightly hysterical eight-year-old.
What a start to Little Girl's birthday, which was that Saturday. She begins by Mommy and Daddy leaving with her sister to go to the dentist! (What a good sport she was, though. She even promised to pray for Big Girl while we were gone.)
The dental techs and the dentist were absolutely wonderful to Big Girl. They let me come back with her into the exam room, they explained everything before and during the procedures, and the dentist told Big Girl that she'd done the exact same thing when she was eight. Same tooth, too! No one would ever guess that she chipped a tooth, let alone be able to pick it out! (Even our regular dentist didn't really notice which one it was until Big Girl told him today.)
Later, I asked Big Girl how she felt about my reaction, which was a very controlled freak-out. She said she was glad I acted as I did because it let her know that I (and I'll quote here for the full effect):
"...really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really ... 'two years later' ... really, really, really, really, really, really cared."
(Gotta love the SpongeBob reference!)
Grandma, on the other hand, made her more upset by downplaying what happened because it made Big Girl feel like she didn't think it was a big deal.
So there you have it. Sometimes, it's a very good thing to have a little bit of a freak-out when your kids get hurt! I have thought a lot about what Big Girl told me, and I decided that what comforted her most was that my reaction was much more natural than telling her that it was "just a little bump." It obviously wasn't a little bump, and by freaking out just a little bit (but remaining in control overall), I was with her in her panic. I wasn't some passive observer without an invested interest in the situation. I think that by freaking out with her, though not on the same level, let her know that she wasn't going to have to deal with it alone.
(Updates later with the x-rays!)
Christine
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