Rosey's mouth is screwed.
Well, okay, not screwed, but bad enough to make me think the dentist is humoring me.
(And our dentist? A very sweet person*.)
R's front tooth - the one next to the gaping hole in her mouth - is slightly discolored. This happened since the accident, and I just figured it was the death knell for the tooth.
Our dentist said there's a possibility that the tooth might have blood inside it (like a bruise) and that would have caused the discoloration. It might get better.
We were all set to be on Fever Watch 2008, since the problem with whapped teeth is that they can abscess, and that can get hugely nasty. (Mental note: must warn pre-school.)
Then they took x-rays.
And we were screwed.
Rosey's tooth has a broken root. A broken root. Oh frabjous joy. Apparently Miss Rosey has inherited both the clumsiness gene (from me) and the sheer cussedness tendency to always have the worst-case scenario happen (from Bear.)
We were sunk in gloom when Bear piped up. Trying to put a good face on things, he said (Oh Pollyanna!) "But it might grow back, right? The nerve could regenerate."
She looked at both of us, then at Rosey, watching us all.
"Well, it could," she said.
*Whose office called me at eight am this morning (I left an unhappy message on the answering machine this weekend) and fitted us in today. Not complaining, so much.