Recently, I took my two oldest children to see an orthodontist, where we learned they both require braces. The cost estimate was enough to make my heart race. My daughter, Mia, is nine, and my son, Jake, is twelve, and it was clear they inherited our less-than-perfect smiles. Both my partner, Sam, and I had braces as kids, so we knew what was coming. However, I had naively thought our insurance would cover more than it actually does—living with three kids has made me realize that dental insurance feels more like a monthly struggle with unexpected costs lurking behind each dental visit.
As Sam and I discussed financing their braces and the limited insurance coverage, my thoughts drifted to my own childhood. I was twelve when I got my braces, the same age as Jake. That was right after my dad left, and he didn’t contribute anything towards my care. My mom worked tirelessly—during the day at a local power plant and evenings cleaning homes, even picking up extra shifts during the holiday season at a music store.
I remember her coming home late at night, often in paint-stained sweats, dragging a bucket filled with cleaning supplies. She would drop that bucket and then return with her work clothes from the power plant draped over her arm. There were mornings she would wake me just before heading off to her first job, only to return late to help me with my homework and ensure I had something to eat.
I can’t recall the exact cost of braces in the early ’90s, but I know it must have been a significant burden. I picture her at the kitchen table late at night, bills spread out before her, calculator in hand as stress etched across her face. At twelve, I didn’t appreciate her sacrifices; braces felt more like a punishment. I resisted wearing my headgear and elastic bands, arguing with the orthodontist to remove them at each visit. I can still hear my mom waking me up, her eyes weary from working late, insisting I put on my headgear. And while I begrudgingly complied, I certainly didn’t appreciate her pushing me to take care of my teeth.
Fast forward to now, at thirty-six, I have a decent smile, and I owe it all to her. After we received the orthodontist’s estimates for Mia and Jake, I took a moment to regroup. I called my mom to catch up. We talked about the kids, her retirement plans, and my stepdad. Then I shared the shocking news about the cost of braces. She chuckled, not out of schadenfreude, but rather a knowing recognition of my plight.
“How did you manage to pay for mine?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“It wasn’t easy,” she replied with a sigh. “Your dad didn’t help, but I made it work because I believed it was important.” In that moment, I realized she meant I was important.
After a brief pause, I said, “I know I should have said this sooner, but thank you for everything. And I’m sorry for being such a pain about it.”
She laughed, saying, “You’re welcome. You’d have had quite the crooked smile otherwise! I figured you’d appreciate it eventually.” Then she added, “Don’t worry about your kids. If I could figure it out, so can you.”
It’s interesting how parenting can shift your perspective on your own parents. Sure, we had our clashes during my teenage years, but reflecting on her sacrifices fills me with gratitude.
Thanks, Mom.
In summary, this heartfelt reflection on the sacrifices made by a single mother highlights how, as parents ourselves, we often gain a newfound appreciation for our own parents’ struggles once we face similar challenges. It serves as a reminder of the love that motivates these sacrifices, even if we don’t recognize it at the time.
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