And that's why you don't let you kids drink pop...

Today's adventure is deeply personal, in that it involves one of my biggest insecurities and attempts to correct it. It's this kind of soul-baring blog post that is going to really make readers connect with my emotional journey (or just laugh at me - honestly, either is acceptable, if they are reading my blog).

Being the youngest, by a considerable margin, of three children, there were a lot of rules that applied to the older kids that sort of got pushed away or modified when I was a youth. Not to say that I was spoiled or allowed to do whatever I wanted, but I was never really the subject a strict restrictions you might expect for a child.

Specifically, when I was about 7 years old and my brothers were both teenagers, my parents, wisely, sought to limit my level of pop consumption (Midwest for life, bitches!). To that end, I was only allowed two pops a day, and had to ask permission.

You probably read right past that without much thought, in which case I'll ask you to go back and read it again. More likely, though, you read that sentence, imagined the hell my parents likely went through dealing with a highly caffeinated, two soda a day drinking child and cracked up.

Yes, two pops a day is too much for a 7-year-old. (I might argue any pops a day are too much for a 7-year-old.) My over-consumption of pop throughout my life is not my parents' fault, however; being the independent spirit that I am, by probably age 10 or 11 I'd given up on these silly "rules," stopped asking and just enjoyed a pop whenever I felt like it.

All these factors combined to give me a  pretty powerful coke addiction (that ought to get me some readers), and, as I'm only realizing the full consequences of now, wreak havoc on my teeth. Although I've managed to avoid cavities for more than a decade (last one was probably around age 9 or 10), thanks to all that coke and the addition of coffee to my diet about two years ago, my pearly whites and not exactly...pearly. They're not like hillbilly teeth, but they aren't the bright shiny white I wish they were, and they have their share of minor problems (though I did get complemented on my flossing on my last dental visit).

To improve this situation, I recently purchased some Crest Whitestrips. IT WAS THE WORST IDEA EVER. I do think my teeth whitened some, but I did not realize until after the first day of white strip application that - especially if your enamel has been significantly weakened from years of bathing your teeth in flavored, carbonated acid - putting a strip of a combo of some wacky minerals powerful enough to literally BLEACH your teeth is a terrible idea.

Although it only hurt in the moment the first day I used them, most days, about three hours after application, I experienced a consistent, throbbing pain and hyper-sensitivity, especially in my front teeth. The Internet (which is filled with entries about the pain from white strips that I maybe should have checked out before I used them) recommended taking some painkillers but sticking it out, because the results "were so worth it!"

So I stuck it out for nine days, expecting the pain to decrease. It did not. My teeth may have gotten a bit whiter, but I would almost immediately undo that work with the next morning's cup of coffee or a coke after a long day at work. On day ten, after losing most of a night of sleep from the tooth pain, I threw the box out.

This has been boring, I'm pretty sure, but I'm coming to a self-affirming conclusion that should lift us all up. I still hate my teeth. They cause me embarrassment and occasional discomfort, not to mention I also buy into the notion that how you look can matter in professional circumstances. Once I'm rich and famous, I'd like to do something more permanent to make them look a bit better. (Although the one time the dentist discussed these options with me, in my head I just heard her saying "your teeth are ugly" over and over again in my head. It was not great.)

But for now I'm accepting my teeth how they are, because no physical feature is worth the discomfort (and possible further damage, there's some online indication that the strips can wear away more of your enamel) that I was putting myself through. I like myself the way I am, for the most part, and will continue on this adventure of learning to like all of myself.

Really though, don't let you kids drink pop. At all. Even if you have to tell them to do as you say, not as you do (that's my plan).

And don't use Crest Whitestrips. THEY ARE THE WORST. (Just forfeited so much potential advertising income when this blog becomes a hit. Damn.)