Nuh oekoo oh uh uh nuh bu!

by Patti


S and I went for our semi-annual teeth cleaning the other day. I hate getting my teeth cleaned. I mean - really? Who does love getting their teeth cleaned? But I REALLY hate getting my teeth cleaned. I have what I call "weak teeth". They aren't satisfied unless they are crumbling and cavity-ridden. And they have a love affair with dentists, because they can't go more than a few months without having to see one.

I have had the same dentist for 11 years. A few months after S was born, I started visiting this guy, plopping S down in her car seat next to the dentist chair while he drilled and chiseled my mouth back into health. Today, as I settled into the chair of doom, I commented to him that I could not believe that 11 entire years had flown by in what seemed the time it took him to tell me I had a new cavity. And now, my kid, that once-baby that cooed at my feet while my dentist tortured me, was in the room next to mine, getting her own crazy teeth buffed and shined while he actually DID tell me I had a new cavity. My fourth in is as many months.

"We're going to have to up your visits to once every three months."
At this point, my mouth was pried open. Yet, he waited for my answer.
"Uh-huh," I nodded into his latex hand.
He poked around a bit more, pausing every so often to chat with me. As he chatted, he dangled the dangerously sharp plaque-scraper over my face, twirling it carelessly as he emphasized his words. I shrunk back into the chair, my eyes instinctively blinking to protect themselves from becoming decorative instrument tips. Yet, at the same time, my mind couldn't help but think that if he DID poke my eyes out, I'd be able to sue him, and WOW, would we be rich. Sure, I'd be eye-less, but we'd be rich!
"So, how's work?" he asked me as he dug further into the back of my mouth. My mouth was now stretched practically over my head, inside out.
"Oh, nuh un ow. I un oo ee aeeore"
He nodded, as if he understood what I was saying, and then proceeded to pepper the rest of my appointment with complex questions that could not be answered with a mere shake of my head.

Once he was done with me, he informed me that he was going to go down the hall to check out S's shark teeth, and that the hygienist would be in to polish my teeth. In breezed the peppy hygienist - officially the sweetest woman on earth. She is one of those people that probably bathes in sugar and makes you feel mean by simply standing next to you. Radiating sunshine and butterflies, she bent over my mouth, her kind eyes twinkly. "We have a new polisher!" she declared proudly. "It's a little loud, okay?"
Suddenly the room began to shake and I realized she had turned on the "new polisher". She hovered it over my mouth, her eyes full of apology.  And then she dove in, jack hammering each tooth with an explosion of mint. "So, how have you been?" she yelled over the "new polisher".
"Eyeee uh uh ee".
She tapped me lightly. "No, no. Don't move your mouth!"
Really?
"All done!"

I rose from the chair with shiny teeth and a vibrating head, and went to check on S. She grinned at me, her soon-gonna-cost-me-$7,000-in-braces teeth also shiny, and then we headed home. In the car she turned to me. "Mom, why does the dentist always ask me so many questions when my mouth is open?" Kid, you got my teeth. Better start now perfecting the art of "nuh oekoo oh uh uh nu bu!"