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Monday, April 17, 2006

Oh boy!

M is a dentist. Not a private, 'holidays in the Seychelles, second home in Antigua' type dentist but a dentist nevertheless. As such, she is extremely conscious of what our children eat - realistic but conscious.

My mother on the other hand, has an unbelievable sweet tooth. She's in her 60's, she's a grown up so she is entitled to eat what she likes. Having said that, she is also absolutely petrified of going to the dentist - I mean, terrified. A filling? Knocked out. Check up and clean? Knocked out.

She is s-c-a-r-e-d.

If my mum's scared of going to a place where things might hurt a bit, ok, I understand - I too was very scared (right up to the point where I met M - but that's another post for another time).

You could say that my mum is more aware than most of how, over time you can become absoutely terrified of something like a visit to the dentist.

What my mum perhaps doesn't understand is that we are trying to avoid Joseph and Annabel having to go through what M sees every day in her job. Children crying in pain due to a throbbing abscess, parents begging M to see their child as they've been crying for 3 days (parents who give their children coca-cola and buckets of sweets or parents who fail to accept that they are in any way to blame for their childs pain).

"No, Mrs Dentist, Tarquin never has sugar in anything. Only honey in his porridge or Sunny delight by the litre bottle".

Yes, quite.

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