We got the word today. Says the orthodontist to my oldest son: IT'S TIME!
Here is where we see the transformation from cute boy to awkward teenage look with acne and braces. Here is where we start making payments to the orthodontist, and by the time we are through, we will have contributed a large sum of money toward his children's college educations.
To my son, it's no big deal. Many of his friends have braces already. To me, a much bigger deal, I'm not sure why. Maybe because as a teenage girl I was always horrified at the thought of kissing a boy with braces on. I don't think I ever did. You see, I never had braces myself, I just remember the slobbery metallic smiles of friends, with ropes of spit clinging to those rubber bands, food stuck all over their teeth, the weird lispy speech caused by too many foreign objects in their mouth. I also remember the frequent garbage can dives to retrieve the retainers, often mistaken for Jolly Rancher watermelon candies. Ick ick ick. Yuck.
Maybe braces are better now. At least his teeth are not this bad.