Yesterday was one hell of a day, beginning with a visit to the boys' dentist.
Now, I will say the boys have finally gotten to the point where they have their shit together while we're there, no more screaming and thrashing around. No more needing four techs to each hold down an appendage to get flossed. We're doing good.
Then (then! OH MY HELL, THEN!) the lady goes and effects Darwin's gag reflex and guess what happens...
In between his jacket and shirt, in between his shirt and body. Down his back. In his pants. Oh my hell.
Then, I find out that Griffin has nine cavities. For those of you in the back: NINE CAVITIES. Oh my fucking God, does he even have nine teeth to have cavities in?!
His adult molars coming in over his baby molars are already cavities. The dentist said this is due to bad genetics. VERY BAD GENETICS.
Given I didn't have my first cavity way into my 20s, guess who I'm blaming this one on.
I'm a city girl, but I've heard there's a saying - something about always look at it's teeth before you buy a horse. Apparently, YOU NEED TO THAT FOR HUSBANDS TOO.