My dear son, whom I shall refer to as ‘Henry’ (because that is his name) has just turned 15 and made the decision that he would go ahead with the braces. The lucky devil inherited some of his mother’s orthodontic issues, and he is also the proud grower of one extra wide lateral incisor – apparently a reasonably uncommon phenomenon. We are very proud of this achievement.
His father and I decided that the best option would be to let him make the decision to brace or not to brace as his issues were similar to mine – some necessary but not urgent functional benefits and aesthetic improvements – particularly with those front teeth. Our rationale being that when he neglected to clean them properly and complained about having braces at all, it had been his decision.
Moulds of Henry’s teeth were not needed, so he did not have to experience the warm playdough feeling of the mould material squiggling around his teeth – a not unpleasant experience just strange.
So the etching, glueing process begins, and I watch as each bracket is carefully applied, positioned, checked and then cured into position. It was interesting to see the process from my angle as an observer knowing exactly how it all feels.
Dr Levinson even had the cheek to point out that he was a very good patient….harumph I say…was that comment aimed at me?
By early evening Henry had decided that his teeth were too tender for the stir fry meal I had prepared, ‘It feels like they are going to fall out’ were his words. Of course, I could be the reassuring sympathetic mother, as I have been in that situation so recently, instead, I told him to ‘Suck it up princess’ …but I allowed him to eat apple crumble and custard for dinner anyway.
