I’m not sleeping so well these days. You’d think the cooler nights and increased consumption of wine the past two weeks would have me sleeping like a baby, but no! Seems I keep having these weird, horrible nightmares – and they’re always about my mouth.
I think it’s Rocco’s fault of course. (It’s always easier to blame the boy, ya know.) He’s been sick and snorty and his sleep breathing is more labored than my friend Danielle’s french bulldog with a respiratory infection. To his credit, his drool is slightly less frothy than that of the dog. Also, Rocco believes mouthwash is a sufficient replacement for a toothbrush, that one single individual couldn’t possibly need to use both oral hygiene products over the course of a single day. (I know you’re all eagerly lining up to lick his tonsils now, but please remember he’s married.) I’m waiting for all his teeth to fall right out of his head.
The dreams started out with this weird recurring scene where my mouth would fill with chewing gum that I couldn’t spit out. While annoying, it wasn’t terribly frightening. I’d just have to pull and pull on this ridiculously long and stinky string o’ chewed Bubblicious for what seemed like eons. Often, I’d have to reach my whole hand around my molars to get the mess untangled.
A quick Google search would have you believe I’m unable to express myself. Really? I’m not sure I’ve ever had a thought in my head that I haven’t prattled on about ad nauseum. (Sometimes I even write them down and broadcast them across the internet.) My theory? I think it’s just flashbacks to eating frozen (not chopped) spinach with braces. Have you ever tried to unwind those stringy green stems from your palate widener? I get tongue cramps just thinking about it.
Of course, I’ve always got to take things up a notch. Now my sick little brain has decided to torment me with visions of all my teeth falling out as I slumber. Well, it’s not all the teeth all the time. Often, I’ll notice one loose tooth that I’ll play with until it releases from my gums with a loud POP. Moments later, my mouth is full of teeth jumbling around and clacking together like gravel.
Sometimes I just loose five or six of the bad boys. I’ll be sitting at a French cafe having a lovely conversation with Kermit the Frog and suddenly four of my molars are in the crock of butter next to our croissants. The next night I’ll watch my eye teeth make tiny ripples as they splash into the pond I’m flying over while riding Falkor. Even better, some nights when I’m feeding my sea monkeys, my entire lower jaw, tongue and all, falls into my aquarium filled with orange Jello.
Personally, I’m a huge fan of teeth – mine in particular. These choppers are the result of two years of pain and awkwardness, my father’s generosity, and an orthodontist that refused to accept defeat. I carry floss in my purse for the love of all that is holy! These dreams seriously FREAK MY SHIT OUT.
As they were becoming more and more frequent, I got my Google on and decided to figure out what the hell they were about.
Well duh. Of course I fear an untimely death. Show me a gal whose calendar reflects regular appointments with her oncologist that doesn’t. I dig that a girl has to work through all that PTSD jive, but do you really have to involve my teeth? Can’t I just dream about losing my hair again or not being able to breathe?
If I’m going to keep losing my teeth each night, can I at least get Justin Timberlake or Edward Cullen to make a cameo as a reconstructive dentist?