I had to go back to my oral surgeon’s office today for my follow up visit and to get my stitches out. I had briefly considered finding a babysitter for Quinn, but then dismissed the idea because I figured he could sit and play with his Leapster.
My appointment was at 11 a.m., and Quinn and I pulled in to a nearby parking garage at 10:43. I was back on the street driving away at 11:01. And that includes time spent encouraging Quinn to climb up two double flights of stairs.
I didn’t get a chance to sit down on the electric blue couch before they took me back into the exam room. Quinn didn’t get a chance to climb up on the neon green stool they wheeled in for him to sit on before the dentist got there. And I didn’t have a chance to make any embarrassing snarky comments before the dentist said, “Looks good! We have some papers for you at the front.”
He looked in my mouth for maybe—maybe—ten seconds. And that includes the time he spent snipping out my stitches.
Now THAT’S how you run a doctor’s office.
Although even though I had threatened/bribed Quinn with treats, he didn’t even have time to be bad, so he got to pick out a treat at 7-11.
He chose ice cream.
My sister on getting her wisdom teeth out: “They gave me a shot of local anesthesia, told me to take ibuprofen, and I had to walk home.”
I know. Total bummer for her, huh?