No cavities.
Not one soft spot.
"These teeth are nice and hard," the kind dentist smiles at me.
"Um. Great! I'm so glad! What a relief," I reply in a forced enthusiasm that is way too loud to be real. Inwardly, I'm more than a little ashamed. Then I tell myself it's probably better to be too vigilant than too careless with one's teeth...and one's children's teeth.
So how was I fooled?!
Well, Robert's molars are pretty deep. And they're stained yellowish-orange. Ta daaaa! Problem explained.
The best news is, though, that Robert had a great time. He was chatting with the hygienist, singing for the dentist, goggling over the bright light and the pneumatic chair and the swinging pendulum clock on the wall:
Picking out a sticker and a "prize" wasn't nearly as cool to him as watching the movie playing in the waiting room. James was the perfect baby brother for this visit, staying in his car seat the whole time and playing with his red kangaroo toy. I was the only one "out of sorts" at the dentist's office today. Pbbbsh.
