Grumpy

There's nothing like a toothache to take the beauty right out of a beautiful weekend. I've been popping pills for the past two days, trying to keep my awful attitude to myself, and not doing all that great of a job. The problem is, it hurts to eat, talk, and move, so that quit-bugging-me-and-bring-me-some-tylenol attitude is leaking out on all sides. It also hurts to lie around and complain though, so I cain't get no satisfaction.

It's my wisdom teeth. And if I were truly wise, I would have had them removed several years ago. Before they were all visible behind my molars. Before the several days of pain they cause every year when they decide to do the toothy two step in my jaws. Before my cheeks became swollen enough to cause my face to resemble a squirrel's fall storage system.

But I was all, who knows if I'll even end up needing them out? Why go through all that trouble if my wisdom teeth don't really need to come out?

Because having a toddler and a preschooler to take care of when your jaw is shooting with pain is no walk in the park, that's why. Because this pain is worse than childbirth*, that's why. At least contractions had a break in between the pains. Why did God put wisdom teeth in my mouth anyway if they're pointless and useless and torturous, if he didn't intend for them to be removed under the use of anaesthesia?

Only now I'm stuck with them because for the past almost four years I've been either pregnant or nursing. There was a 2 month period there for a while in which I had no baby attached to any part of my body. If I were wise I would have had my wisdom teeth out then. But during that time period? There was no pain. No teeth were grinding their way out of my tender flesh. Outta sight outta mind. I think we've established that I'm not wise.

So until I'm done nursing Lauren, these babies are staying put. And truthfully, I'm halfway glad. I mean, the half that's not writhing in agony. That half is yelling for surgery, stat. But the other half is a little scared of being put under while a stranger cuts around in my mouth. I have some technical difficulties with my jaws that doesn't allow them to open as far as a normal mouth, and I just can't fathom a dentist trying to do everything that needs to be done without breaking my bones in the process. And then there's the pain and cotton to deal with afterwards. The pain, there are pills for. I think I could withstand it. But the cotton balls...no. No. I hate cotton in my mouth. It's worse than scratching my fingernails down a dusty chalkboard. Times One Jillion. When I was younger and had to have my braces adjusted, there seemed to always be somebody shoving cotton balls in my mouth. For which I will never forgive orthodontists in general. Cotton in the mouth should be illegal.

I have good rationalizing skills, don't I?

Somebody, somewhere, have some crunchy bites of delicious food for me. Then sing at the top of your lungs about how tasty it is. Then whatever you do, don't you dare tell me what you had, because I couldn't stand the watering my mouth would do, causing me to drool when I can't manage to swallow due to the blinding pain in the back of my mouth. Enjoy.


*Simmer down, now. That was just a dramatic exaggeration. Childbirth was way worse, but way more rewarding. I'm not gonna be snuggling and admiring this wise tooth any time soon.