Bowled Over

I should know better than to eat cereal. I don't particularly like the stuff, probably from all those school years when it was all I ate for breakfast. There are few cereals I will even consider consuming, and I usually don't even want those. But when I want cereal, I can eat two to three bowls of the stuff.

In an effort to cut down on consumption of food in general, I took a little bowl out of the cupboard when I got a hankering for Frosted Flakes. I figured the little bowl would make it seem like I'm getting more. Somehow that works. I don't know if I'm fooling my stomach into thinking it's getting more, or if my eyes are sending the wrong message, or if my organs are just dumb, but it works. Plus, if I do end up eating two or three bowls of cereal, they are two or three little bowls. But I wasn't going to do that this time. I was having one small bowl.

It could have been the cereal; it could have been the fact I was being a bad girl and sitting at the computer desk; or it could have been I'm just clumsy (probably that one). I spilled the full bowl of cereal all down the front of me (better there than the keyboard). It's a sick feeling to have that milk washing down the front of your shirt and soaking into your pants and trying to hold your legs together as tight as you can to keep it from soaking into the seat underneath you. I failed on that point, but I did manage to keep it off the floor. I was soaked though with cereal flakes stuck all over my shirt and pants, leaving me unable to stand up and get a towel without them and the milk I did manage to keep off the chair from going all over the floor. Kaya was more than pleased to assist, and started eating the cereal right off me. Dogs are great. So are five-year-old daughters who run and get you a towel, so you can begin the process of drying off.

Once I was clean and dry again, I gave up on eating and decided to do something good for myself. I promised myself yesterday I would make a dental appointment. It's been at least two years since I've been to the dentist. I hate the dentist. More accurately, I'm scared of the dentist. No, I haven't had extensive work done. I have no good reason but that I'm a big chicken. I have one tiny filling in my mouth that didn't even require Novocain to place. I always had good, strong teeth. Then I got pregnant. Twice. As if pregnancy doesn't wreak havoc on a woman's body enough, my teeth got soft, making them susceptible to cavity creeps. I brushed my teeth like a fiend. I've always been good about brushing my teeth, but it wasn't going to change the fact, there were weak spots on my teeth. I need fillings now. I needed them two years ago. I may need more now, which will teach me a well-deserved lesson on not putting things like this off. But I'm scared of that shot and that drill. I hate even getting my teeth scraped with that nasty pickax posing as a dental instrument. I haven't had any tooth pain, so that's a good sign, but it's not good in that it allowed me to go for so long without getting my teeth taken care of.

I have an appointment next week. I scheduled an exam and cleaning and made sure she allotted extra time to do some work. Who knows how much work I might need. It doesn't matter now. The deed is done, and I'm going in. Thank God I only have two wisdom teeth with only one of those just beginning to peek through. That means a little less dentist exposure for me.

Speaking of exposure, while I was conquering one fear, I figured I may as well get past two in one day, and I scheduled a physical exam. If my annual pap smear was due, I would have went ahead and scheduled that too just to sweep the board of doctor anxiety clean (well, except for that eye doctor thing). I get to go wear a paper gown the week after I get my teeth hacked to pieces. Yay. That's two whole weeks of being told I don't take care of myself well enough. Then I get my period, so I'm sure someone will kill me before March is over. At least that will save me the trouble of getting healthy.