Jones goes to the dentist.

Before Jones was even born, his daddy and I discussed his first trip to the dentist. I know. I know, but you know what they say: "When expecting your baby, don't forget to do the important things - pick an outfit for bringing him home, a church to bring him home to, and a dentist to see him just after he turns a year old." Done. Done. ANNNND, after today, done. Jeremy was sweetly insistent in all of our discussions that we take our kids to see his childhood dentist, if it was okay with me.

It was okay with me. I don't have a childhood dentist. I mean, I went to the dentist, but because we moved around a lot, I saw a smorgasboard of them, most notably Dr. Camak, whom I remember really liking (spectacular sticker selection), and Dr. Straup, who gave away vouchers for free fries from the next door Burger King and whom I remember giving me so much Novocain that I very nearly bit my own jaw off without being any the wiser. That to say, it's been our plan from before the beginning to take Jones to see "Dr. Bill" Chambers, just like his daddy did all those years ago. I'd like to say that Jones did great. And for most of the exam he did, but when the hygienist (Kim) and Dr. Bill took turns taking a look inside his mouth, Jones made it perfectly clear how unhappy he was with the arrangement. Either he was unhappy with that OR with the blanket of Tarheel paraphernalia that covered the walls of the exam room.

Regardless of the reason why, he screamed like a child possessed each time they put him in the exam chair. I had to hold his hands to constrain him, which really broke my picture-taking stride. With the exception of those two brief exams, though, he did do really well. Both Kim and Dr. Bill were thrilled to see Jeremy - as I knew they would be - and blown away by how much Jones looks like his daddy.  If I've heard that once in the last thirteen months, I've heard it 9,876 times.

Here's what I didn't know going into our 8:30 appointment: I didn't know that Dr. Bill had played for the Tarheels in the early 1970s. Had I known, I'd NEVER have answered "What do you want to be when you grow up?" on Jones's Get-to-Know-You Form with "a Kentucky Wildcat basketball player." I was just being silly when I wrote that, but as soon as I walked into the cerulean-hued room, I instantly felt like I'd unwittingly thrown down some sort of smack talk gauntlet. 

Should make for an interesting 18 years!

Go, CATS?!?