Yesterday, I brought the girls for their bi-annual dentist appointment and cleaning.
And we encountered the Right of Passage for All Middle-Class American Children: our dentist handed me the business card of the local orthodontist and recommended that we make an appointment for a consultation for Michaela.
It is the same orthodontist who fixed my woefully crooked teeth, twenty five-plus years ago.
I, too, started when I was eight.
The hygienist who cleaned Jenna's teeth took a good look at her mouth, identified her crossbite, and said, "She's going to need orthodontia, too."
And so it begins.