Dear Vanessa,

Luciana had her first dentist appointment. It went really well so I’m taking all the credit.

Who else would take the credit? You? You can if you want. A little weird though.

The hygienist said she was so well-behaved. So calm. Such a brave girl. That’s me. That’s Daddy parenting. You’re welcome.

To be fair, Luciana didn’t move a muscle. To be MORE fair, the hygienist barely touched her teeth. She counted them. Brushed for ten seconds. Fluoride foam, and pretended to use the stabbing thing for like one second. Done.

Pretty sure chapter one of hygienist school is just “Be Nice to the Toddler.”

You can decide how much of that counts. I’m telling everyone she nailed it.

She also got a solid B for brushing at home.

B is generous.

Here’s what brushing actually looks like. Luciana sucks on the toothbrush like a lollipop. Then tries to throw it in the garbage. When I try to do it she opens her mouth. She closes it the second the bristles get close. Then licks my finger like I’m the dentist.

We have never brushed for two full minutes.

I lie to the app.

Actually, that’s a lie. I’m way too lazy to use an app. That’s your thing.

You would have been a nightmare in that exam room. You carried toothpicks everywhere. Purse toothpicks. Car toothpicks. Coat pocket toothpicks from jackets you hadn’t worn in two years. Floss twice a day. No sweets.

Other than Starbucks. Starbucks got a pass.

Two root canals. One pulled tooth.

I brush. I floss. Not like that.

Zero cavities.

I know that’s a weird thing to brag about. Give me the W.

But then came the apple juice betrayal. Turns out the “no added sugar” stuff I’d been smugly buying still has a metric ton of natural sugar. Which is the same thing.

I felt personally targeted by Welch’s.

You probably would have caught this. Probably the first time you read the label.

Nah… you would have fallen for it also.

I’d been doing it for months. Patting myself on the back at the grocery store like I cracked the code.

Yay me.

No more apple juice. Probably. I mean. Maybe some apple juice.

You know how I am. She points at the fridge and I become a kitchen butler with no spine. I can already see it. Tuesday morning. Tantrum brewing. Apple juice in hand. “Just a little.”

Depends on how mad the little gremlin is at me.

Spoiler. She’ll be mad.

Yes, I called our daughter a gremlin. No, you can’t stop me…

Try to stop me.

Please.

Besitos,

Michael