Comfort comes in many forms, and what is “comfort” varies for most of us. Comfort can be in the arms of another, it can be watching “America’s Next Top Model,” it can be a tuna fish sandwich with Fritos smashed into the tuna fish, or it can be stroking a blanket while you suck your thumb.
Some days, I wish the last one of those things did it for me like it did it for Iz. On my really bad days, my comfort was from a bottle, a wine bottle! Some days, I wished that it was socially acceptable for 40-year-olds to suck their thumbs, because I’d be all over that, well, in the privacy of my own home while watching “America’s Next Top Model.”
A few months ago, Iz’s dentist suggested she go see an orthodontist. I always knew Iz would need braces. She had my mouth (my teeth) along with my ability to chatter endlessly.
The dental tech told me that Iz had a cross bite, an underbite, and a few other conditions; perhaps it was a mosquito bite and frostbite. She handed me a brochure and circled all of Iz’s oral challenges. After perusing the brochure, Iz’s mouth appeared to be worse than mine ever was.
I wore braces for three years. When I wore braces, they were not as common as they are today. You were an oddity if you had them when I wore them; nowadays, you’re an oddity if you haven’t had a palate expander, braces, or both.
I remember that getting braces for me and my sister was a big financial challenge for my parents at the time. There was no insurance for it, and it seemed to be considered a luxury item then. My mother told me that she thought it was important that we had nice smiles; we were good girls, and she wanted that reflected in our smiles.
Back then, I’m sure many parents thought, “You can chew and smile,” so who cares if your teeth are crooked. I was fortunate. My mother always felt that it was important to deal with issues that might eventually make you self-conscious; I had a serious underbite, Julie had an overbite, and my brother was the only one blessed with near perfect teeth.
I had a mole over my eye and one on my neck. They bothered me when I was in college, and when I was in my early 20s, my Mom said, “You should get those removed.” Like the true nurse that she was, she then said, “Make sure a plastic surgeon does it, because you don’t want scars on your face!”
After she died, I looked in the mirror one day. I called a plastic surgeon, and I had the moles removed. To this day, whenever I look in the mirror and smile, I think “Thanks, Mom.”
Anyway, after our visit to the dentist, Iz quizzed me about the orthodontist. She wanted to know when she was going and what they were going to do to her. I tried to explain it the best I could on the car ride home, but she still seemed uneasy.
I called the orthodontist and made the appointment the next day. Iz asked me every day with dread when her appointment was. It was as if I was taking her to see a 24-hour marathon of the “Wizard of Oz.”
When the day arrived, I dreaded it. I knew she was scared. I did my best to act as if going to the orthodontist were like going to Chuck E. Cheese.
I explained that this orthodontist gave you a wooden nickel for every visit. You could then use the nickels to buy things like beanie babies and iTunes gift cards. I knew this peaked her interest when she asked, “And what else?!?!”
Once it was our turn, we were escorted into a room that looked like someone’s den; Iz was asked to sit in an exam chair disguised as one of those overstuffed recliners that looked like it could fit a family of four in it. The orthodontist came in and had her laughing in about two minutes. When he was done looking at her mouth, he confirmed all the bad bites I had heard about; well, except for the mosquito and frost bites.
Of course, there was one caveat. Iz had to stop sucking her thumb. When Iz heard that, she looked at me panic stricken.
When we left, I was questioned up and down about why she had to stop sucking her thumb. I explained to her that it was not helping her teeth. Also, the palate expander had a thumb guard; if they put it in, she couldn’t suck her thumb.
She frowned. She whined, “I can’t suck my thumb. I don’t want that thing!” I told her that I’d never let them put something in her mouth to prevent her from sucking her thumb; the alternative was for her to try very hard to stop sucking her thumb at night on her own.
It’s funny how when your kids take after you and then when they don’t. I was never a thumb sucker; however, both Nathan and Iz were. Nathan sucked his ring and middle fingers while stroking the manufacturer’s tag on this ratty little brown bear he called “Bear.” Iz sucked her thumb while stroking a pink Winnie the Pooh blanket that was so old and tattered that the pink satin edge it once had around it had long worn off.
Nathan had stopped cold turkey when he was 7. I didn’t encourage him to stop. He just stopped overnight it seemed.
I knew Iz was not a cold turkey. She was a frisky kitten. She was going to fight for her right to retain her stuffed catnip mouse.
One day last week, I played the answering machine messages while Iz was on the couch watching TV. One message was from the orthodontist asking when we might consider beginning Iz’s “treatment.” Iz heard the message and shrieked, “No, Mommy, no! I’m not ready yet!”
I sat down next to her, and I told her that I was not going to call them back yet. Again, I told her that she was getting to be a big girl and sucking her thumb was something she should really try to stop at night. I knew that her thumb wasn’t the issue on its own; the blanket provided the fuel which jettisoned the thumb into her mouth.
I said, “I think that having your blankie in bed makes you want to suck your thumb more.” She thought about it. She said, “But, I like my blankie.”
I smiled, squeezed her hand, and then I said, “I’m just saying that you might try to sleep without blankie for just one night. I hesitated and then I said, “But, only when you’re ready to do that.” She sighed and went back to watching TV.
That night, I tucked her into bed with her blankie, and I sat down at my desk outside her room. She asked me if I was going to call the orthodontist soon. I reiterated that she needed to stop sucking her thumb, and then I would call.
Just then, I heard her jump out of bed. She marched down the hallway toward me with what looked like a mighty purpose. She stopped at my desk, whipped her blanket around from behind her, and dropped it on my desk.
I asked, “Are you sure?” She said, “Yes.” I said, “I know it’s going to be hard, Iz, but it will be worth it.”
She gave me a hug. I said, “You’re a good girl for trying so hard, and after you get your braces off, you will have an even more beautiful smile.” She walked back down the hallway and got into her bed.
The next morning, she climbed into bed with me. She said proudly, “Mommy, I didn’t suck my thumb last night.” I said, “I know. That’s wonderful!”
Her blankie was in the laundry basket in my room. She saw it and then asked, “Mommy, can I have a moment with blankie?” I said, “Sure,” and I left to go feed the animals.
When I came back upstairs, I saw a lump under the covers and pulled the blanket down. There was Iz curled up, stroking her blankie, and sucking her thumb.” I laughed and said, “Iz, your moment is up!”
When she came home last night she said, “Mom, guess what? Samantha has one of those things!” I asked, “A palate expander?” She said, “Yes. I saw it. It’s cool.”
I’m sure that Iz will still want a few more moments with blankie, especially on those days when she needs a bit more comfort. While I never want my daughter to feel pressured to follow trends, I was really glad that Iz seemed excited about becoming part of the “in” orthodontic crowd. Happily, it appeared that Silly Bandz were to second graders’ wrists what palate expanders were now to their mouths. ♥ Note to the blog lurker, Lisa: Thank you for lurking and for all of your lovely comments. ♥ End blog soundtrack:
I am a devoted mother of two wonderful children, a writer (technical by day and creative by night), an avid baker and crock pot goddess (♥ Sucra), a runner and a cyclist, a rescuer of pets, a vintage fashionista, and a dispenser of social glue.
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