This is my son.
My crazy-browed son.
He's channeling his inner "Labyrinth" David Bowie. (The brows. Not the hair. Or those really tight pants.)
Anywho, 'bout this time last year, he had a little mini teeth surgery.
Yeah. Get that finger out of there.
See, John's teeth came in like way early. Waaay early. Like when he was 2 months. And they came in like this.
'S not good.
So they got capped. Like this.
Last weekend, he had a fall. I'm such a good mom, that I don't know when. Or where. Or how.
But when I noticed it, I gasped. Like huge.
Like when you're in the car with your hubby and you think he's not paying attention and you're about to have an accident, but you're not. And he's really irritated you scared him like that.
That kind of gasp.
The dentist thinks he hit his chin. Which clanked his bottom teeth into his top teeth. And broke one of them clean off.
So we've got a choice. Thankfully his tooth is protected. This is a cosmetic issue only. So,
He can go through the same mini surgery. Have it re-done.
Or we can go with the Cletus-the-slack-jawed-yokel/Lloyd Christmas look.
Are you ready for his close up?
Come here, son.
Oh. . . good heaven above.
Yeah. We're opting for the redneck look. Putting him to sleep/having him go through that/$2000 isn't really something I'm too excited about.
Go ahead. You can call him "Lloyd" the next time ya see him.
Or Cletus. Whatever floats your boat.