Who's Rhino Rotten Tooth Now?

It's me. That's right, I am Rhino Rotten Tooth.

You see, last weekend Ozzie passed his vet visit with flying colors. His weight was in the perfect range, his teeth, while full of tartar, were not rotten. He even made a brave stand while the vet cut his nail too short and blood was gushing out of his poor little toe at an alarming rate. He took it all in stride. Chest puffed out, nose held high, he did not whimper or wiggle. You could see it in the roll of his eyes, "Amateurs," he thought. "Where did you find these freaking a-holes," he seemed to ask us.

I digress.

So, today I had a dentist appointment. Usually I don't mind going to the dentist. The upbeat dental hygenist chit chats to me about her life and she tells me how important it is to floss. Then, the dentist comes in and remarks how nice my straight teeth are, and "Oh, doesn't she have great teeth!" I just smile and say thank you, and all that. Then I get my free toothbrush and floss.

Well, today's dentist appointment didn't really go so well. Aside from the newly installed TV above my comfy chair, there is nothing else nice to say about it. First off, my gums were bleeding at an alarming rate. If only they attached an IV to my gums while I donated blood -- then they could get a pint! Why was this happening? My lady remarked how she has never seen my teeth bleed this much. Then the g-word gets thrown around. You know, that ugly g-word which makes me think dirty thoughts of bacteria. Gingivitis. Or, she said, you could be pregnant.

Which brings me to the second part of my RANT.

HA! Me pregnant? I don't think so. According to the 25 pregnancy tests I have taken in the last 4 days, I am definitely "NOT PREGNANT." It is very stressful, this whole TTC (trying to conceive) thing, and while I am probably not being politically correct or what have you, by broadcasting this all on my blog, maybe somewhere out there Christin from Germany is learning from my trials and tribulations. I hate this limbo, as I call it. My mind is consumed with nothing else than the question, "Am I pregnant?" I am sure Jake is loving every second.

I digress, again.

So, after my gums are bleeding away, she also comments on my crooked teeth on the bottom. "Do you wear a retainer?" she asks.
I laugh. Oh, she was serious.
"Um, not since 9th grade," I say.
"Well, you really should get one. Your teeth are getting really crooked on the bottom. You don't want to get braces again."
No. I don't' want to get braces again. Is a retainer really necessary? Visions of my "summer" teeth dance in my head. You know, some are here, some are there. I am not only going to have gingivitis but crooked ass teeth. Why don't you just give me a mullet while your at it.

Then, the dentist comes in. Well, I thought, maybe he will say that my smile looks nice. Yes, that will make me feel better. Nope. He tells me that I have the beginnings of decay in four of my bottom teeth (not the crooked ass ones, so I guess that is good).
"Aww, dang, doc," I say in my thick white trash accent which is strangely now beginning to match my white trash teeth. "How did dat dem dar teeth git so rott'n?"

So, now, as I sit here, very un-pregnant, in my too tight jeans (due to my inability to stay away from sour cream, cheese, bread and brownies), my gums sore, my rotten teeth living in a world of gingivitis -- I feel bad for calling Ozzie Rhino Rotten Tooth. Who's got the rotten teeth now? His mama.

I guess the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree.