The Lion’s Teeth

Slice of Life '25 2 Minutes

They call your name, and we enter the patient area. We are barely through the door when you call for the lion.

“Lion, brush your teeth!” you exclaim.

There he is, a friendly stuffed animal with quite an impressive mane, human-looking teeth (just missing a canine), and a toothbrush connected to its paw with a string. I would think the teeth would freak you out, but they don’t. You remember this fella as the one happy thing about a scary visit weeks ago.

“Sure, Mama. We can brush the lion’s teeth before we leave.” I assure you.

The dental assistant smiles at me and guides us to room 5. Soft blue walls, gentle lighting, and a necessary TV welcome us. On the screen is an episode of Bluey. You gasp, point, and shout, “Boo-ee!”

I sit in the chair with you on my lap and tell you the doctor will check and clean your teeth to make sure everything is healing. I try to read your body to see if you’re anxious about this visit. The last time we were here was scary for me, too, but you lay easy on me, and I get a sense of calm.

One of my biggest fears as a mom is being unable to keep it together for you. We’ve been through the typical two years of illness, ER visits, hospitalization, and a recent accident, which is the reason we’re at the dentist for the third time in two weeks.

So far, I’ve pulled strength from some mysterious source to help you feel safe. I repeat reassuring words, hold you close, and promise it will end soon. Inside, I’m holding it down more than keeping it together.

I imagine a balloon being held underwater. That’s more like it.

I wonder about that phrase: What fell apart, and in how many pieces? What am I “keeping together,” exactly? My ELL brain does this often.

The day of your fall, I remember getting the call from the nurse’s office and reaching for that unknown place where this mom strength comes from. I did not allow myself to think of what could be. I just moved.

My mind was like a classroom where students were forced to read in unison: You can do this. My body and thinking followed some sort of rationale that my feelings couldn’t. Again, picture the balloon.

As we sit in this chair again and greet the now familiar faces that come to check on us, I hold you and stroke your hair. Bluey plays with Bingo on the screen, and you watch them closely. Your lack of awareness is blissful, and I let it invade my thoughts. We are past the scary, for now. We have it “together.”

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Published by Ana Valentina Patton

I aim to be a learner, not a knower. If I forget, please remind me.

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22 thoughts on “The Lion’s Teeth”

  6. How does one become someone who thinks, “I have no idea what I’m doing” AND “Only I know how to take care of her” all at once?
    Parenting is the weirdest yet most rewarding experience ever.

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  8. “My mind was like a classroom where students were forced to read in unison: You can do this.” I heard this in my mind. So specific! Love it!

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  9. Ana I love how you put together so well the fear mom’s go through when their baby is sick or has had an accident. The moment you wrote “like holding a balloon underwater” was spot on. Elena has an amazing mother and family. I love you both so much❤️

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  10. Oh, Anna, as the mother of five adult children, I related so well to your words. Many the times I had to disengage my fear and feelings and simply move. “So far, I’ve pulled strength from some mysterious source…” This is the line that resonated the most with me. When I look back on over fifty years of parenting, I realize for me, that mysterious source is a loving God, who has somehow safely delivered us through all the trials of parenting (and grandparenting). Bless you and your little one!

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  11. Ay Ana, que experiencia mas dura, pero que resiliente ella y vos tan fuerte. Yo no se ni como hubiera empezado a reaccionar, creo que hubiera panicked. I am So happy Elena is doing better! Al mismo tiempo te envio un abrazo enorme, con ese sentido de Mom, que solo cuando tenes tus own kids sacas esos superpowers, como esa fuerza que mencionas. Thank you for sharing this and teaching us about parenting.

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  18. Such a beautiful slice of a mother’s love. Your writing is exquisite – how you weave the story – and show your abundant love for your daughter. thank you for sharing this. I think your strength will undoubtably be gifted to your lucky daughter.

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  20. The worry we have for our children is both beautiful and overwhelming. I hear the hope that your daughter is on the mend (and you, too)!

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  21. It’s almost like Elena’s calm adds weight to that balloon you’re frantically trying to hold underwater. Maybe that’s “holding it together” — a coming together of two (you and her). Whatever it is, your calm surely kept her at ease that first time, let her know “it’s all going to be okay.” I think moms just have a deep well that they can source power from when they need it. And you tapped in. It’ll refuel with rest, ready in reserve for the next time you need it.

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  22. You write so powerfully about the challenge of being a mom when your child is sick, hurt, and scared. It is so very hard to hold it all together and it is even harder to assure your child that it will be ok in the end when you know for sure there is pain and discomfort guaranteed. Your writing is a tribute to the kind of strong mother you are. Here’s to a speedy recovery.

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