We sit together in the waiting room of the oral surgeon's office, my son fighting the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Will they do anything today?" he asks for the fifteenth time.
"I don't think so, honey. They're just looking at your teeth today." I sigh. The dentist had referred us to the surgeon for a likely surgery.
"What does that IV thing feel like? Does it hurt?"
"Bud, we already talked about this so many times. It's not very bad."
"Did it hurt when you got one? How old were you?"
"Buddy, remember, I had that little surgery a few months ago. I was fine. It just hurts a little bit. I've done it every time I have a baby too. I'm always Okay."
Tears start flowing and he desperately wipes them away. I rub his nine year old back. I ask God what to do. How do I help ease this little boy's mind? What do I say? Nothing has reassured him. Not my stories of my wisdom teeth being pulled out, not my memories of the five IVs I've had during childbirth, nothing.
He is scared.
I sit in the office feeling helpless, my little boy shaking with sadness. I have no idea what to say or do. I rub his back. Try to distract him with the baby babbling in his mother's lap. Then I have a little brainstorm. Okay, God, I'll tell him what you say. My words aren't working at all, Yours will be better.
[Read the rest of the article at The Better Mom.]