Okay, I'm officially out of slang terms for a kid with braces. We had our umpteenth visit to the orthodontist today. I've noticed that a lot of parents just drop their kids off, but we always stay with ours the whole time. She's our only child so I guess we just like to micromanage every situation that involves her.
She got to choose the colors for her braces, which is probably the worst consolation prize the world has ever known, but it seems like kids don't really notice that part of it. My daughter chose silver and purple. The brackets are only on the top four teeth in the front, but the wires wrap all the way back to her molars.
I noticed that a kid in the next exam chair was having all sorts of stuff done (including having molds taken of her teeth) and just sat there stoically. Not my kid, mister. She recently told me that the boys at school call her "Drama Queen."
"I don't really mind," she told me, shrugging. You can't argue with truth, I guess.
As Dr. M was working on her mouth, my daughter held out her hand so I could hold it. The whole scene did seem like it would be a bit uncomfortable. A lot of metal and wires going on. I could tell that she wanted to cry.
Once the braces were in place, an assistant took us into another office to demonstrate proper cleaning techniques. She said that when we come back in two months, the doctor will grade A's brushing skills. G for good. F for fair. P for poor. Apparently, if her oral hygiene is truly lacking, they will send a letter to her parents about it. She's almost ten years old. I will remind her to brush her teeth, but I will not brush them for her. So, I guess I'll look forward to that P.
The good news is that in six months, those dirty teeth should be pretty damned straight.