An Open Letter to my Daughter’s Molars 

  

Dear Molars, 
My feelings for you are so strong it is difficult to put into words, but I will try. You provoke such emotions from me that I can hardly stand myself. It’s so hard to resist. 

     I know there will come a day when I’m eternally grateful for your existence and my daughter is happily chomping away at whatever delicious meal I’ve prepared for her. There will then come a time when your shiny whiteness will symbolize a new stage in our lives and bring a bittersweetness as she starts to lose her teeth. But this is NOT that day. 

   Today, you’re hurting my sweet baby. And do you know what that means? It means she won’t eat. She won’t sleep. She only screams bloody murder. Bloody. Murder. That is NOT an exaggeration. If you had a throat, I would punch you in it. Hard. If you had feet, I’d lay a path of Legos in front of them in an effort to make you feel what I’m feeling. If you were a paper, I’d cut you. If you were a wrestler, I’d put you in a headlock. If you were a cow, I’d eat you. In a big hamburger with bacon and cheese and I’d laugh the whole time. If you were a piece of tissue, I’d blow my nose on you. If you were a baby wipe, I would use you on a dirty bottom. Yep. That’s what I said. I think you get the picture. 

Have you lost your mind? This child is in PAIN and you just cut your way on through relentlessly, ignoring the cries of the sweet baby. Have I lost my mind? I’m sitting in a car outside my daughter’s school thirty minutes early because the car is the only place the munchkin is happy at this point in time. And I’m talking to a TOOTH. I’m pretty sure I HAVE indeed lost my mind. So thank you, you heifer. 

If you hadn’t gathered your closest gang of hard, white, shiny terrorist molar friends and decided to ALL poke yourselves through at the same time, we could have possibly had a symbiotic relationship. But no. You’ve made your choice to my my mortal enemy. And I will conquer you. I already have. You’ve been drowned in Tylenol and kisses. So, in your face. You shall not prevail, evil one. 

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