I had the misfortune at school to study the Samuel Beckett play, Waiting for Godot, which - if you haven't seen it and to save you the pain of ever having to see it - basically involves two blokes sitting on stage all night waiting for someone who never turns up.
It was part of my 'A' Level English literature syllabus and I remember one night piling into a minibus with my classmates, travelling the whole way to the Lyric Theatre in Belfast to watch it, hating Act I, getting ice cream, falling asleep at the beginning of Act II and not waking up again until the very end. That's how exhilarating this play is.
Anyway, I'm reminded of it because waiting for Jamie's first tooth to come through reminds me of some of the emotions I experienced whilst watching Waiting for Godot; I'm getting frustrated, I'm increasingly tired and I'm now not even sure that it's going to make an appearance.
Quite a few babies we know of who are much younger than Jamie have multiple gnashers and yet he still doesn't even have one.
"Ah," say some people we talk to about the situation, "but that means several are likely to come through at the same time - that's what happens, you see. You'll go to bed one night and bang, the next morning, you'll go to get him and he'll have a mouth full of them."
Every time I hear this, I can't help but conjure up an image of Dr Teeth from The Muppets (pictured) lying in Jamie's cot. (Coincidentally, Dr Teeth is actually my third favourite Muppet after Beaker and the Swedish Chef).
But, as for now, we wait, we sleep and we wait a bit more.
Oh, and whilst we are waiting, I might as well tell you a short but very relevant joke.
Question: What's the shortest play in the world?
Answer: F*** Godot.
I love that one.
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