Dental Guilt.

Someday, when Connor is grown, I hope that he remembers that we always required him to brush his teeth twice a day.  Every day.  {Even though his grandparents sometimes failed to follow this particular directive}

And that we sometimes brushed his teeth for him when they were looking particularly fuzzy.

And we purchased fresh toothbrushes {cool ones, even} as needed.  We lovingly replenished his toothpaste supply even though 75% of it was wasted when he wiped it off his toothbrush into the sink.  And left it there.

I hope that he'll know that we cared deeply about his oral hygiene.

And, most of all, I hope that he'll understand that the reason we dragged him {kicking and/or screaming} to the dentist every 12 months was because we loved him.  And only wanted the best for him.

And I sincerely pray that the fact that I, his mother, fail to make the appropriate number of dental appointments each and every year AND lovingly refuse to floss his teeth for him, will not result in any long-term dental distress.  

I.feel.so.guilty.  

Good news, though:  No cavities at today's visit!  Maybe there is hope for us yet.