Our teething problems are unique

There is witch in Russian folklore. An old, haggard, often toothless (or tooth-challenged) woman who appears in many a fairy tale, scaring children witless. They call her Baba Yaga.

I do not remember too much about her save for the fact that she was real scary-looking.

In pictures, she usually had just one or two teeth, sometimes none at all. And for some reason, that is the image that endures — her freakish ‘toothlessness’.

Last week, the image of that creepy, wrinkly witch flashed before my eyes once again, when out of the blue, I came face to face with the reality that the day may come when my grin will be as gummy as Adoti’s.

Even with just two lower teeth, my daughter’s smile is adorable (yes, I know, every mother thinks her kid is cute). But cute would not be a word I would use if I were in the same predicament.

Let me explain. A huge chunk of my childhood was spent in the dentist’s chair.

Heaps of sugar

Thanks to a steady stream of full-cream milk, sweetened with heaps and heaps of sugar, there was always some kind of disaster going on in my mouth.

If my teeth were not being filled, there were being extracted. If they were not being extracted, there were being covered with crowns. It was endless.

After 18 years of dental upheaval, a period that was rounded off neatly with the extraction of four impacted molars, things calmed down a bit.

For a few good years, I was able to give the dentist a very wide berth.

But then along came my dear, sweet Adoti. When I was pregnant, an age-old filling was somehow shaken loose. It ended up coming out with about half of my tooth. When you have half a tooth, try as you might, you just cannot avoid that dreaded dentist’s chair.

So off I went, belly leading the way, praying that she would just extract the tooth and be done with it.

Yeah well, that did not happen. She decided to “save” it, as if it were a lost soul or something. Saving it meant a root canal.

Yes, fun times. So she did some groundwork but then advised that I would be better placed to endure the final bit after I popped my tot.

The relief I felt was indescribable. It felt like I had gotten away with murder. I hopped, skipped and jumped my way out the door, vowing to never cast my shadow upon it ever again. Adoti was born and life was beautiful. Breastfeeding was a trip in the beginning but we soon got the hang of it. I was manufacturing milk like the best of them.

Little did I know that as I was pumping out the stuff by the jug load, some of the calcium that was going into it was seeping from my teeth and bones.

No one told me that losing my teeth was part of the miracle of birth.

I found out for myself when the rest of that broken tooth fell out while I was eating a chapatti.

As soon as the chapo made contact with it, I knew it was over.

There was just something unnatural about the interaction. And sure enough, after a few chews, I spat out what remained of my tooth.

This time there was no escaping what will surely turn out to be a long and drawn out appointment with the dentist.

She is talking about inserting metal rods and fixing crowns on top of them. At least two more visits, she says. The next one will be the most intense. But the crown should be a walk in the park.

Upside down

Yeah, right. But what to do. I love my sassy lil’ miss but she surely has turned my life upside down.

So I am talking to my sister, lamenting the re-working of my dental formula and instead of empathising, she starts to poke fun.

As if there is merriment to be found when you look in the mirror and see Baba Yaga.

“Just imagine Phoebs, if you have 10 more kids, you will lose 10 more teeth,” she says, almost rolling on the floor with laughter.

“That is like so not funny Cate. If I had ten more kids I would be more worried about the state of my vagina than the number of my teeth!”

Sigh. It seems we go through everything together, Adoti and I.

She is growing teeth and I am losing them. Who would have thought it, hey? I guess that is why they call it the circle of life.