Caleb's torture apparatus is fully installed. We have been turning the crank two clicks every night for a week now. He grimaces, holds out is hands for a while in sort of a "calm-the-waters" gesture, and then says, "I'm good." Not a single complaint.
The day it was installed, he noted his new and distorted speech and commented to the orthodontist, "How will I make new friends talking like this?" The orthodontist teared up. Katie teared up. Guess who did not tear up? Caleb.
In his Caleb way, he asked more as an observation of a new problem to be solved than as an expression of self pity or a request for sympathy (though sometimes he plays that card masterfully to acquire new toys). And he has largely solved the problem. This may be correlation and not causation, but immediately he increased his time spent reading aloud, improving his speech to the point that the impediment is hardly noticeable.
I've always loved my kids. Then, as they got a little older, I liked them as well. Now they are giving me opportunities to genuinely admire them. Parenting is a cool gig.
