Wednesday 27 July 2011

Trying trains

Sometimes even good ideas can go wrong as I found to my cost last weekend when I decided to take Harry to Chester on the train – forgetting that the races were on.

The plan was simple. I would catch the train with Harry and Melissa – travelling by car so she could get some uninterrupted shopping done – would meet us there.

I should have known things were about to take a turn for the worse when we had our first drama of the day shortly after we’d arrived at the station. Harry announced he needed the toilet precisely one minute before the train was due to arrive. I did try asking him to hold on but Harry was insistent. So out came the potty while I stared nervously down the track. We made it – just; I was putting the potty back under the buggy as the train pulled in.

Then things really started to go haywire. As the carriage doors opened, I realised just how busy the train was. I refused to give up, though, and squeezed on board somehow – much to the delight of those already packed in like sardines.

Hanging on to Harry with one hand while attempting to fold up the buggy with the other proved too much and in the end I gave up. I settled for standing up, while Harry decided that the most comfortable on my shoulder.

It was not, it has to be said, a particularly pleasant experience; it was extremely hot and the atmosphere was, how can I put this, slightly intimidating given that there was a fair amount of drinking going on. Having said that, the people vying for elbow space around me were very understanding and even helped lift the buggy off when we got to Chester.

All of this, it seems, had no impact on Harry. He was fast asleep by the time we reached Ruabon and proceeded to snore loudly for the rest of the journey. In all, it took about 40 minutes to reach Chester, but having to hold Harry for that length of time made it feel a lot longer. One thing’s for sure, I won’t be using the train on race days in future.

Sleeping - again

Harry is now sleeping in a bed rather than a cot and, by and large, he’s taken to it pretty well although it’s not been without its moments.

There are two areas in particular that have proved to be a challenge. Firstly, keeping Harry in his bed when he’s going to sleep is a much more tricky proposition without the cot.

At the moment, one of us is taking him to bed and reading him stories to keep him safely tucked up. Now I like Thomas the Tank Engine as much as the next dad, but it’s already starting to become a little bit too familiar.

The other challenge is making sure Harry stays in his own bed during the night. Whereas climbing out of the cot took considerable effort, it’s now easy for Harry to jump out of bed and head for our room.

As a result we’re constantly alert to the sound of Harry’s little footsteps padding across the landing in the middle of the night. Most of the time, it’s simply a case of turning him round and putting him back in his bed. However, he seems to be developing a knack for climbing into our bed without waking us up, which is a bit more worrying.

The first time this happened, I woke up and was surprised to find Harry snoring away alongside me, spread-eagled and taking up as much room as possible. “What time did you bring him in?” I asked Melissa. “You tell me,” came the rather grumpy response. Harry, oblivious, carried on sleeping.

When he did finally open his eyes, I asked him why he had got into our bed. “Crocodiles in Harry’s room,” came the grinning reply. Perhaps I should invest in a couple for our room as well.

Thursday 14 July 2011

Harry Don't

I remember mum saying that when my brother was little, she used to worry that people would think his surname was ‘Don’t’ because it felt as if all she used to say was ‘Barry don’t’.

I now know how she feels. Keeping Harry out of trouble is a full time occupation and Melissa and I are forever saying ‘don’t’ or ‘stop that’ to him.

Last weekend we were weeding the vegetable patch and, as usual, Harry wanted to help. Rather than walking around the vegetables, though, Harry was determined to walk through them, which resulted in some rather fraught exchanges and one or two onions pulled a little bit sooner than expected.

Then, when Melissa decided to plant some flowers, Harry followed her around pulling up every single one. We later discovered some hidden in a watering can. It sounds funny now, but it wasn’t at the time and for a while it sounded like all we were doing was telling Harry off.

I said as much to Melissa later, and she replied that some days all she did was tell him off. When I returned home the other night, Melissa looked shattered. I asked her what was wrong and she said it had just been one of those days. At one point, he had covered the bathroom in shaving foam before Melissa managed to wrestle the can from his hand.

As Melissa said, it’s just part of growing up and Harry learning where the boundaries are – and how far he can push them. When we do tell him off, he frowns and says things like ‘No cross daddy. Harry want happy daddy.’ It doesn’t make discipline any easier.

Anyway, Melissa has now decided that we need to try a naughty corner.

The idea is that when Harry misbehaves, we make him stand in a corner for two minutes. The advantage of a naughty corner is that it’s completely portable, as opposed to a naughty step which may or may not be available depending on where you are. Will it work? I have no idea – but it’s got to be worth a try.

Monday 4 July 2011

Missing out

That was one of the longest weeks of my life. Melissa and Harry spent the week at the seaside in Harlech, leaving me home alone.

It wasn't quite a week - Monday to Thursday to be precise - but being away from Harry (and Melissa of course) was painful. It’s the longest I’ve gone without seeing Harry and while I expected it to be bad, I didn’t realise just how much I’d miss him.

For a start, the house was completely silent – a real shock to the system as I’m used to walking in to a barrage of noise and activity when I get home from work. For the first day or so, it was quite a novelty but then it just felt, well, lonely walking into a deserted home.

It wasn’t just the noise that was missing either. Getting in from work and immediately being dragged outside to play is the most effective way of relieving stress I’ve yet discovered. I also missed the cuddles, the sound of Harry giggling and his cheeky smile when he’s done something he knows he shouldn’t.

One evening I phoned and spoke to Harry who was fine until Melissa told him to say night night to me. When responded by shouting that he wanted daddy - the lump in my throat was more like a boulder.

But I suppose it wasn't all bad. The fish tank got a good clean, the lawn was mowed and - whisper it quietly - I even managed to tackle a bit of ironing, badly of course. The best bit, though, was when I arrived in Harlech on Friday – the welcome from Harry was something else.

Half an hour later, normal service was resumed when I gave Harry a telling off for emptying out a tube of toothpaste on the bathroom floor. By the time he went to bed, it was as if we hadn’t been apart.

Hospitals

Last week we had to take Harry to The Maelor for an eye operation. It wasn’t a major procedure by any means – he had a blocked tear duct that meant his eye was prone to running. However, he had to have a general anaesthetic and that was the scary bit.

Having been to the pre-op the day before the operation, Melissa called me in work and said I would have to take the day off. “There’s no way I can take him down to be put out,” she said.

It was the worst bit. I took him down to the anaesthetic room where, despite a room full of terrifying machines, Harry managed to keep a stiff upper lip. He even let the nurses attach the heart monitor without fuss, even though his bottom lip trembled a couple of times. However, when they attached the cannula he began to cry, looking at me as if to say ‘how could you’. Within seconds of the injection he was flat out, leaving me feeling terrible.

We then had to wait an hour while the operation was carried out – which meant an hour of staring at my watch and pacing up and down the corridors of the hospital. It wasn’t a nice feeling. After what seemed like an age, we got the message to say he was in recovery and practically ran to get him. All I could hear as we dashed in to the room was Harry shouting ‘daddy’.

He was very grumpy - a combination of being woken up, something he's not keen on at the best of times, and being ravenously hungry (he wasn't allowed to eat or drink before the operation).

Eventually I asked a nurse if Harry could have something to eat. Thankfully she said yes and I swear I've never seen a piece of bread disappear so quickly. Before he'd finished, Harry wanted another slice. He sat on the bed and said 'Ask lady for more toast.' When I told him I would speak to her in a minute, he responded by asking for his shoes saying, 'Harry go ask lady for toast'. We knew he was on the mend.

The staff on children’s ward who looked after us were absolutely fantastic and helped make the experience as pleasant as possible. The playroom was also very impressive - Harry didn’t want to leave when we were told we could go home.

The following day, it was as if nothing had happened; Harry woke us up by putting a soaking wet, freezing cold flannel on our heads. Perhaps it was revenge for that anaesthetic.