Tooth brushing



Anya hates people messing with her face. Just after mealtimes, you can hear bloodcurdling screams erupting from our house as we try to wipe that bit of yogurt from her bottom lip or remove that bit of pumpkin from the end of her nose. So I wouldn't blame you for guessing that tooth brushing round here is an endless struggle.

Well, in actual fact it's a bit of a success story. I think part of this is that some friends gave us some tasty toddler toothpaste, and Anya treats her toothbrush a bit like those old Pez sweets dispensers: as an intriguing device to deliver concentrated pellets of flavour to the mouth. She would sit there with a faraway, pre-sleep look in her eyes and contentedly suck the minty water out from between the bristles, filtering it through her teeth; it wasn't exactly brushing, but she was enjoying herself, which was more than half the battle.

The next stage was just trusting her to get it right and giving a good example. I suspect if we'd tried to manhandle her into doing it properly she'd have protested violently; instead, we just brushed our teeth at the same time, so she'd try to imitate how grown-ups do it. That seems to be working now, to the extent that she'll even let us have a go to reach her eight front teeth and the one or two molars that have sprung up at the back. Thank god reverse psychology still works on her--I feel the day is not far off that she sees through this particular parental stratagem.