That's all folks...

Well, after three and a half years and 200 columns, it's time to call time on diary of a dad.

Harry started school this week and although it's only half days at the moment, Melissa and I agreed when I started writing the column that I would finish when he started school.

After all, it's bad enough having an embarrassing dad about the place, let alone having an embarrassing dad that writes for the local paper.

Looking back over the last three and a half years, I can honestly say that it's been an incredible experience: from the unadulterated joy of Harry's arrival, to his first words and first steps; and from James' traumatic birth (I still get nightmares when I think about watching a limp little baby being snatched away by the emergency team that descended on the delivery room), to the robust, happy little baby who flaps around with excitement when I walk in at night.

The changes that happen in such a relatively short space of time are truly remarkable. Sometimes I look at Harry and wonder when he suddenly turned into the tall, grown-up boy he is now.

I've learned an awful lot. For instance, I now know that it is in fact possible to function with only two hours sleep a night. I also know that, unless England happen to be playing a Test series in India or Australia, television is terrible at 5 o'clock in the morning.

Having grandparents that live within a few miles has also been a huge help. As much as we love our boys, having the odd night out or night away is a real treat – and that wouldn't be possible if we didn't haven't such supportive parents.

Has it changed me? Absolutely. It's a bit of a cliché but many of the things I thought were important before we had children simply pale into insignificance now. My priorities are now very simple: Harry and James.

Thanks for reading.

Growing up...

James is changing so quickly at the moment that he already seems to be more of a little boy than a baby.

He is very aware of his surroundings and responds with a great deal of excitement when people pay him attention – particularly his big brother.

James gets extremely excited when he sees Harry – he thrashes his arms and legs so hard that at times I worry that he'll do himself an injury.

The other evening, a very tired Harry was lying down on the sofa watching a television programme before bed. James was in his little walker on the floor and started to gradually push himself towards Harry, who was a couple of feet away. After about 15 minutes – and plenty of activity – James had got within grabbing distance and promptly took hold of Harry's bare foot and started chewing on it. Harry was not impressed but didn't shout or kick out as I expected him to.

Instead, he got up off the sofa and pushed James to the other side of the room, before turning him to face the opposite direction. Harry then returned to the sofa and carried on watching the television without saying a word. Melissa and I were in stitches.

Mind you, we almost as surprised the other day when Harry, without prompting, started to share his yoghurt with James. Now Harry loves his yoghurts and, as a rule, refuses to share them with anyone. However, he obviously made an exception for James because he just started feeding him – and even scraped the excess yoghurt from around his mouth. James was delighted. I just hope this goodwill continues as they grow up.

Feeding time...

I don't want to tempt fate, but James has taken to his food very well indeed. After a predictably tricky start, he has grasped the concept of eating very, very quickly.

It seemed to happen all of a sudden. Before Melissa took the boys on holiday a couple of weeks ago, the process was, at least as far as I was concerned, a fairly fruitless and extremely messy exercise. At times, I wasn't sure James had actually swallowed anything.

However, he is now eating just about everything we put in front of him – and when he sees you approaching with spoon and bowl in hand, he can barely contain his excitement.

It's certainly helping with his sleeping, because he's now just about going though the night again.

He's still waking about five for some milk but I can cope with the early mornings much better than I can cope with one or two o'clock feeds.

The food is obviously agreeing with him, because he seems to be getting bigger all the time – he's well over 20 pounds now and feels every ounce of it when you pick him up.

One thing that has surprised me is just how similar James and Harry now look. At times, James looks like the spitting image of Harry at the same age, which can be quite disconcerting. This is a relatively recent thing as up until a few weeks ago, I thought that James looked quite different.

Unfortunately, James, like Harry, has inherited my lack of hair. I can't remember how old Harry was when his hair finally started to thicken – probably not much before he was two – but I was quite releived to spot a few hairs finally starting to sprout on James' head this week. I think I was bald until I was three or four so I just hope James improves on that.

Caravan guilt

THE conversation went something like this: “Hello daddy. Where are you?”

“Hello Harry, I'm on my way home from work.”

“Are you coming to the caravan?” “No, I can't Harry. Sorry.” “Why not? Are you missing me daddy?” “I am missing you Harry.” “Come here to the caravan then.”

And to a three-and-a-half-year-old, it made perfect sense; if I was missing him, why didn't I just go and see him?

The conversation happened earlier this week when Melissa took Harry and James to a caravan in Prestatyn for the week with her mum and dad.

As I didn't have any time off, I took them last weekend and returned home on Sunday, feeling guilty after the conversation with Harry I've just described. To be honest, I did think about staying in Prestatyn and commuting to work but because I would have arrived in Prestatyn at bedtime each evening, we decided it would be more trouble than it was worth.

So that left me rattling about the house on my own and one question that occurred to me several times during the course of the week was: what on earth did I do with all my time before we had children? Honestly, even getting in from work, going to the gym and catching up on the housework still left me twiddling my thumbs in the evening.

And the bit I was quite looking forward to – eight hours of uninterrupted sleep for an entire week – didn't materialise. Every night I woke up about 3am – probably because I'm used to waking up about that time with James – before waking again at 6am, when Harry usually bounds into our room like a mini tornado.

In fact, on one occasion this week, I found myself vacuuming the house at half six in the morning. Harry would have been proud of me.

Two children is plenty thanks...

I HAVE a great deal of respect for couples that decide to have more than two children. As somebody who comes from a large family (I have two sisters and one brother), I can only admire my mum and dad for coping. I'm not sure how they did it because five months into being a parent for the second time, it's tough going.

Of course, I wouldn't change it for the world but, equally, the thought of another baby fills me with terror. That's not to say that Harry or James are difficult; they just require a lot of attention, generally both at the same time.

That's perhaps a bit unfair on Harry. He's pretty easy to look after as long as you give him something to do.

James, on the other hand, is a little bit more demanding. He's taken to sleeping for only very short periods during the day – 10 or fifteen minutes is par for the course – and when he isn't sleeping, he wants attention. He has started taking an interest in toys (by interest, I really mean putting them in his mouth and gnawing on them) but they don't keep him quiet for long.

At a similar age, Harry would sleep for two or three hours at a time, which meant we were able to get plenty of jobs done. Much to Melissa's frustration, this simply isn't possible with James.

It's swings and roundabouts of course, because James is a much better sleeper at night – and on balance I think that a decent night's sleep is preferable.

More milestones for baby James

The little milestones are coming thick and fast for James. As well as being able to roll on to his side now, he's also started laughing properly. It's only slight change – previously he would just gurgle whereas he now chuckles properly – but it's a magical sound to my ears.

More importantly, however, he's also started having a little bit of baby rice. Although this is early (James is five months old next week), his appetite is such that he had started waking in the middle of the night again for a feed.

I had forgotten just what a messy, frustrating experience weaning can be. I tried to feed him his baby rice the other day and I swear it ended up everywhere except in his mouth.

Generally, he is so keen to grab the spoon that most of the food never reaches his mouth. The bit that does get there almost invariably comes straight back out again. I must be getting old because I can't remember Harry being such a problem.

Still, it's a sign that James is growing up and at least that means he's easier to handle. He is rapidly losing the vulnerability of a newborn, which is particularly good news when Harry decides it's time for a cuddle.

Speaking of Harry, he is also growing up fast – so fast in fact that Melissa has ordered his school uniform. I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, Harry is clearly ready for school – he needs to be kept busy and I'm sure school will help in this regard.

On the other hand, the thought of him going to school makes him seem almost too grown up – he is only three and a half, after all – and, as irrational as it is, I can't help but feel that he's just too young to fend for himself in a classroom.

Pride... and a fall

I can't help feeling a bit sorry for James. When Harry was born, he had our undivided attention and everything he did was scrutinised and celebrated by Melissa and myself. James, on the other hand, has to fit in to what feels like a very hectic household and that means I rarely have the time to just sit there and marvel at him.

And whereas we have literally hundreds of pictures of Harry, we've probably only taken about half that number of James.

I'm sure this is not uncommon for second-time parents. Now that we're a family of four, finding a spare five minutes seems to be practically impossible.

Having said all of that, I do really enjoy the odd moments of peace and quiet when they do crop up. The other night, Melissa was out and I'd taken Harry up to bed, while James was in a particularly happy mood. He is a very smiley baby (except when he's hungry, obviously) and we sat for what must have been about half an hour just playing about. It was fantastic; James just gurgled and smile happily while I babbled away with him. I don't think there is any more effective a stress reliever than ten minutes in the company of a happy baby.

To cap a perfect night, when Melissa returned I was able to report (maybe just a little bit smugly) that Harry had gone to bed like a little angel, James was fast asleep, I'd washed up the dishes and tidied away Harry's toys. I'd even started to read a book – and that hasn't happened for months on end.

But as my nan always says, pride comes before a fall and this was certainly the case last Saturday when Melissa was out and my only task was to dress Harry and James and get them into the car. After an hour and a half of chaos – including chasing Harry around the house while simultaneously trying to stop James screaming – we finally left the house. I'm sure I aged five years in one morning.

Sentimental

MY MUM has still got all of our schoolbooks, reports and various other memorabilia from our schooldays stashed away in her loft.

Given that she's got four children, there's quite a bit of the stuff. I've always thought this is a ridiculous waste of space. I mean, why on earth would you want to keep a school report? Sentimental nonsense.

Now, however, I have changed my view. On Tuesday, there was a ceremony at Chirk Playgroup where every child was presented with a book about their time at the group. Each book was individual, containing pictures and words detailing how they had progressed since joining.

A huge amount of effort has obviously gone into this document and, at the risk of sounding like a pushy parent, reading about Harry's development since starting in September last year makes me incredibly proud.

When Harry first started at the playgroup, he was quite shy and for the first month or two, Melissa stayed with him because he became upset if she left. Since then, he has undergone a complete transformation – he loves going to playgroup and has turned into a very confident little boy.

As if to illustrate the point, he performed a solo ('I can sing a rainbow') at the presentation ceremony, which I was lucky enough to attend. It took quite a bit of restraint not to stand up and cheer him on.

For the first time, I can understand why mum has kept all of our books from school. Being sentimental comes with the territory.

Keep quiet... impossible!

Trying to keep Harry quiet is practically impossible. And since James was born, his volume has, if anything, increased.

This became painfully obvious at the weekend when James was Christened at St Mary's in Chirk. Trying to explain why it's important to be quiet in church is not easy and the harder we tried to keep Harry quiet, the louder he got.

To begin with, Harry was very good and sat quietly. However, after the first hymn he decided that he'd had enough of being quiet and started to talk loudly. Then he decided he was going to sing nursery rhymes.

Glares from Melissa and myself didn't do the trick and neither did whispered warnings through gritted teeth. By the time the second hymn started, Harry was singing London's Burning at the top of his voice. Thankfully the vicar, Rev Tony Rees, was unperturbed, even when Harry announced loudly that he needed the toilet and had to be hurried away quickly by Melissa's sister.

In contrast, James was perfectly behaved throughout, sleeping during the first part of the service before waking up just in time for the baptism itself and - surprisingly - resisting the temptation to shout when the vicar poured water on his forehead. Instead, he just looked quizzically at the vicar as if to say: “What on earth are you doing?”

Of course, it will be a different matter in a couple of years time when I fully expect James to be every bit as loud as Harry. I think I might invest in a set of earplugs.

Buckingham Palace

I'm not very popular with Melissa at the moment. Why? Because in last week's column I wrote, prematurely as it turns out, that James was now sleeping through the night.

Since the article appeared in the Leader, James has woken in the middle of the night every day. It turns out this is my fault for tempting fate.

To be fair to James, I think this is down to the fact that he has had a bit of a cold which has made him a bit grumpy. I don't know if this is a proper cold or the result of his first set of injections but he's not been himself at all.

At least Harry was about to lift the mood. The other day, Harry was downstairs while Melissa, James and myself were upstairs.

I shouted down to Harry to make sure he was ok. “I'm fine dad,” came the reply. “I'm just watching this programme about Buckingham Palace.” I immediately went down to find out what he was really doing. He was sat on the sofa, arms folded, watching BBC Breakfast which was broadcasting from Buckingham Palace. Harry certainly has the ability to surprise.

Mind you, he's not exactly an angel all of the time. The other day, he managed to destroy a new shirt when he decided to experiment with his scissors while doing some cutting out at the kitchen table.

And that's not the only problem we've had with clothing in recent days. In preparation for school, we've been teaching how to dress himself and, obviously, get undressed. This had been going quite well until last week when Harry decided to strip in the front room before clambering up on to the windowsill – stark naked – waving at passers by.

Dad not daddy

THERE have been two fairly major developments in recent days. The first was not exactly unexpected but was certainly welcome: James sleeping through the night for the first time.

It was not exactly a lie-in (5.30am) but having six hours of uninterrupted sleep was such a treat I felt like doing a little jig of celebration

To put things in perspective, James has been a very good baby at night from the start. Until last week he was feeding once in the night (usually about 4am) but almost without exception he would go back to sleep within the hour, with a minimum of fuss. The following day, it was 5am and that has been the pattern ever since. In an ideal world, I'd like him to sleep until 7 but for the time being and, given that he's only 13 weeks old, I'll settle for 5.

All of this is in stark contrast to our experience with Harry; I can remember pacing around the house with him in the early hours of the morning, desperately trying to settle him after a feed. The thought of having six hours uninterrupted sleep was a distant dream!

The other major development has been that Harry has, quite unexpectedly, started calling me 'dad' rather than 'daddy'. While this may seem a fairly insignificant change, I have found it a bit of a shock, not least because it makes Harry sound so much more grown up. It has also made me feel a bit long in the tooth.

I first noticed it while we were on holiday and I thought it was just a freak occurrence. However, it's continued ever since.

I'm still not used to it which means I'll often ignore Harry's demands for my attention. This is fine in the house, but a bit embarrassing when we're out and about and to the rest of the world it just looks like I'm ignoring my son.

Interestingly, he still calls Melissa 'mummy' rather than 'mum'. When that changes we'll know he's definitely a little boy rather than our baby.

Harry down the mine

We've just returned from a week's stay in a caravan at the Haven site in Pwllheli.

Although the weather forecast was bleak, we somehow managed to avoid most of the rain which meant we weren't stuck indoors all week. Harry in particular had a fantastic time and literally ran himself into the ground every day.

A combination of playing on the beach, running around the adventure playground and swimming left him flat out by half six every evening. We didn't see him again until half six the following morning when he would spring out of bed ready to do it all again.

On the Wednesday, we woke to a serious thunderstorm (so serious you could feel the caravan shake every time it thundered) so I took Harry to Blaenau Ffestiniog for a trip down Llechwedd Slate Caverns.

To be honest, that trip was as much for me as it was for Harry – I remember going there when I was younger and being amazed at the size of those underground chambers.

Initially, Harry was impressed. Then, about half way through our first tour, Harry needed the toilet. While the guide related the story of the mines, I tried in vain to stop Harry shouting “I need a wee” at the top of his voice. It got to the point where he was actually hopping from one leg to the other because he was so desperate. Anyway, he managed to hold on and, undeterred, I pressed on with a second tour, this time down the deep mine.

At first I thought this was a terrible mistake. We had only just stepped off the train when Harry said he wanted his mummy. However, he soon forgot about his mum when he realised he could explore the tunnels instead.

I think Harry enjoyed himself and I certainly did, even if there were a couple of fraught moments. And whether Harry likes it or not, I've got plenty more trips like that one lined up already.

A good imagination

Harry certainly has a vivid imagination. This has become increasingly obvious as he's grown up.

When he's playing by himself, you can hear him chattering away, making up stories about what's happening. When he's playing with his trains, for instance, you will often hear him repeating elements of stories about Thomas the Tank that we have read to him. I find the whole thing fascinating and I'm constantly surprised at how much he remembers.

At other times, his imagination can be a little bit difficult to keep up with. For a while, he was constantly talking about his friend John. Apparently, this friend has silver hair, silver eyes and lives in Wrexham. If you see anyone matching that description, can you let me know as Harry tells me he's building a conservatory for him.

Harry's also fond of taking the clothes airers off the radiators and pushing them around the house, pretending that they're lawn mowers. Not only does this play havoc with the carpet, it can also be extremely painful if Harry catches your ankles.

After one such incident, I asked Harry why he was playing with the clothes airers. “It's my lawn mower daddy,” he replied. “But it's not a lawn mower, it's a clothes airer,” I pointed out a bit sharply rubbing a bruised ankle.

“Don't be silly,” he replied in a manner that suggested he was speaking to, well, a three-year-old. “It's only a pretend lawn mower daddy.”

Looking after himself

James will certainly grow up knowing how look after himself after sharing a house with Harry.

On the whole, Harry is quite good with James and generally doesn't do anything too cruel.

However, he can be a little heavy-handed so what should be a gentle stroke of the arm can suddenly turn into something altogether more, well, violent.

Harry is also fascinated with James' hair. Now James, like Harry, takes after me and isn't blessed with a lot of hair. However, the bit he does have tends to stick up like some kind of whispy mohican. This is just too tempting for Harry, who tries to grab it at every opportunity.

On top of this, Harry has taken to shouting or singing as loudly as he can whenever James is sleeping. This is very frustrating when you've just spent an hour trying to get James to settle.

Harry knows exactly what he is doing. Sometimes he will walk into a room and shout 'bang' just to wake James up.

But while looking after James and Harry can sometimes feel a bit like being a referee, it's not all bad. In fact, watching James smile and wave his arms and feet frantically when he spots Harry is wonderful.

Equally, listening to Harry call James 'darling' makes you want to scoop him up and cuddle him.

Having grown up with a younger brother (not to mention an older and a younger sister) I can confidently predict that James' reaction to Harry will not always be so positive.

How is he sleeping?

WHENEVER people ask about James, one of the first questions is invariably 'how is he sleeping?'

The answer is pretty well actually. At the moment he's still waking for a feed in the night but as he's only eight weeks old, that's only to be expected. Either way, it's a significant contrast to our experience with Harry.

I must admit that I've got a lot to answer for in this regard. With Harry, I wouldn't put him back in his cot until he was fast asleep. With hindsight, I was just making problems for myself as it got to the stage where he would start crying as soon as I attempted to put him down.

With James, I'm quite happy putting him back in his cot as soon as he's finished his feed, allowing him to go to sleep on his own. This means we've had, relatively speaking, a decent amount of sleep despite having a newborn in the house.

Last week, however, was a bit more testing as James picked up a chest infection while Harry also developed a cough and cold. James, surprisingly, continued to sleep well but Harry was disturbed by his cough. A couple of times I woke to feed James only to find Harry had climbed into bed between Melissa and myself – and was snoring loudly.

On one occasion, Melissa even sneaked out of our bed and into Harry's. Apparently a combination of Harry snoring, James coughing and a general lack of space was too much for her. Next time it's my turn to escape.

Mission impossible...

If leaving the house with one child was difficult, leaving it with two can feel like mission impossible.

Weekdays are particularly challenging; as well as getting myself ready for work, we have to get Harry and James bathed and dressed so that Harry can go to playgroup. Melissa, of course, also has to find time to make herself presentable to drop Harry off at playgroup.

To anyone without children, this probably doesn't sound like a difficult task. After all, how tough can it be to give two children a wash and get them dressed by eight o'clock in the morning? The answer, at least in our house, is very tough.

For a start, Harry can be a little monkey when you want him to get dressed in a hurry. I dread to think how long I spend during the course of a week trying to persuade, coax or bribe Harry into getting ready. I'm convinced he does it just to make us cross.

Some days, this alone can take half an hour which throws out our timings altogether. And if he doesn't want to get in the bath, you can write off another 15 minutes of your life.

Melissa's solution to the problem is simple: set the alarm earlier than its current time of half six. While this does sound very sensible, my views on the subject are quite clear: we need every minute of sleep possible. I would rather rush around like a headless chicken for an hour and a half than sacrifice one more moment of sleep.

So the rush to leave the house will continue. I'd like to think it will get easier as the boys grow up, but our experience with Harry tells me that won't be happening any time soon.

Everything changes...

JAMES is changing so quickly at the moment that it's difficult to keep up with it all. He now spends a good portion of the day awake, watching what goes on with those incredibly bright eyes that only babies seem to have.

He's also smiling now, which is just as magical this time around as it was when Harry was little.

Honestly, I could sit and watch James for hours. Every expression, yawn, sneeze, gurgle and squeak is just wonderful. The way he kicks his legs and throws out his arms when he's sat in his little baby seat is just as absorbing.

It's brought back great memories from Harry's first few weeks, when I just used to sit staring at him in wonder. The fact that James, to my eyes at least, looks almost identical to Harry at the same age, means that I'm constantly struck by a sense of deja vu.

Of course, with Harry in the house we don't really get an opportunity to sit around and watch James. Not that you miss it, because Harry is such a character.

The other night, he'd had spaghetti hoops with his tea and had spilt a bit of tomato sauce on his chin. Half an hour later, Harry and I were sat in the living room watching television when Harry started scratching at the now dry tomato sauce on his chin.

He looked at me and, with a very serious look on his face, said: “Daddy, I think I need to have a shave. My whiskers are growing.”

Helper Harry

HARRY is a very willing helper when it comes to dealing with James – but his enthusiasm is turning both Melissa and myself into nervous wrecks.

On the one hand, we're very conscious that including Harry in everything we do with James is important; the last thing we want is for Harry to feel pushed out by the new arrival.

Generally, Harry is very good. He will, for instance, get a clean nappy, wipes and nappy bag ready when asked which is genuinely useful.

But we still have to be constantly on our guard just in case Harry gets a bit carried away. This isn't always easy as Harry is particularly quick. The other night I was sitting in the living room with the two boys when Harry asked if he could have a drink of juice. Not wanting to leave Harry alone with James, I asked him to go with me to the kitchen.

Harry did as he was told but disappeared the moment I turned my back to use the tap. I chased after him just in time to see him grab a dummy and thrust it towards James' mouth. I managed to intercept it before any damage was done while a hurt looking Harry turned to me and said: “I was just giving him his dummy daddy.”

This is not an isolated incident. Harry will often sidle up to James before attempting to grab his hair, prompting Melissa or me, or more often than not, both of us, to dive towards the pair of them.

Sometimes Harry decides he wants to hold James, which is equally nerve-wracking. In fact, the only sure-fire way to put Harry off is to tell him that James has filled his nappy. It's amazing how quickly Harry decides he's got something more important to attend to.

Night-time nappies

THE last couple of weeks have certainly served as a reminder about just how demanding new born babies can be. James is a pretty content baby on the whole and he's still spending most of the day sleeping. Mind you it probably helps that, unlike Harry at that age, I'm not trying to wake him up every half hour to show him off to family or friends. Even so, there rarely seems to be any time to catch your breath, particularly with Harry about. Then there's the night feeds – being woken twice every night certainly takes its toll. Put it this way, I'm now going grey at a more rapid rate than I was two or three months ago. What's worse, however, is when James decides to fill his nappy in the middle of the night. For some reason this seems to be his favourite time of the day to full nappies so both Melissa and I are getting quite good at changing smelly nappies in the dark. Speaking of changing, I'd also forgotten just how tricky it is to dress a delicate little baby. James' arms and legs are constantly waving around and trying to get him into a sleepsuit is no easy task. Despite these little moans, being a dad again is a wonderful experience. When he's awake, James is now very alert and watching him examine your face as you talk to him is a magical feeling. And you can't help but smile at all the little grunts, groans and yawns. One thing I can't get right is his name. I keep calling him Harry which is already causing lots of confusion. As a stern Harry told me the other day: “You got the wrong word daddy, his name's Jamesey. I am Harry.”

Life is never dull

LIFE is anything but dull at the moment but Harry has decided that I still haven't got quite enough on my plate at the moment. No, he has decided that it's time for him to teach me Welsh. I arrived home the other day to be greeted by a very excited Harry who told me to go and sit on my carpet (at playgroup all the children have a piece of carpet). I didn't have carpet, rather a triangle cut out of green paper, but the thought was there. I was then presented with a series of flashcards by Harry who began to teach me the Welsh words to describe the weather. Harry and his mum had spent the afternoon creating the cards and putting them into a little case, which he now carries everywhere. I have to say, I'm very impressed and I've even started to pick up a few phrases although, as Harry put it, “You're not very good yet daddy.” When I'm not learning Welsh, I'm still getting to grips with looking after two children at the same time. I've now been left on my own a couple of times – with mixed results. On the first occasion, James slept the whole time Melissa was away which made life very straightforward. The second time, however, Harry was ready for bed and James just would not settle. I eventually decided to put James in his cot and take Harry upstairs regardless. Within minutes, James was shouting while I was still dealing with Harry. In the event, I decided to concentrate on Harry but it didn't stop me feeling very guilty about the crying downstairs. Typically, by the time Harry had dropped off (it was only a matter of minutes, but it felt a lot longer) Melissa had returned to find James shouting away in his cot. The look said it all. It seems I still have plenty to learn about coping with two children.

Grown up Harry

WITH James' arrival on the scene, Harry suddenly seems grown up. His behaviour since he became a big brother has been a pleasant surprise and he appears to have adjusted very well to, let's face it, what was a major change in his world.

Three weeks in, he's still quite relaxed about the situation and has even given his little brother a nickname – Jamesey.

I was also worried that James would wake Harry up during the night but, so far at least, that hasn't happened. If anything, Harry's slept better in the last three weeks than he did before James was born.

Harry was certainly not going to be upstaged by his little brother's arrival though. At his playgroup's Easter bonnet parade, he performed a solo – I can sing a rainbow – which had both Melissa and I choked up. I'm just glad he takes after Melissa when it comes to singing.

Having got used to handling a newborn again (it took me a while!), Harry now seems huge in comparison. Everything about him looks so big compared to James – from his feet, to his hands and his head.

In fact, it's almost as if Harry has gone from being a toddler to a little boy overnight.

As for James, he's doing well and is continuing to put on weight, which is always a good sign.

He's also sleeping pretty well, which is something of a relief. I can't help feeling that this might be down to the fact that we aren't fussing over him quite as much as we did with Harry. Mind you, he's only three weeks old so there's plenty of time for him change his mind yet.

A shock to the system

It’s fair to say that both Melissa and I have found dealing with a newborn a bit of a shock to the system.

Our first two weeks with James have, on the whole, been pretty good and we’ve even managed to get a decent amount of sleep. But there was so much I’d forgotten about caring for such a young child.

For a start, I found holding James nerve-wracking. I’m used to picking up a robust three-year-old, so handling a baby, albeit a relatively large one – he was 8lb 11oz when born – came as a real shock.

There were other, more messy, elements that I had also forgotten, chiefly that little boys like to go to the toilet when their nappies are removed.

This proved costly at the hospital when I ended up on the wrong end of a soaking. Still, Melissa also got caught out in similar fashion which made me a feel a bit better.

However, a few days later I got covered when James decided to projectile poop while I was changing his nappy.

Harry, who was helping out with the changing, gagged when he realised what had happened, which had me in stitches.

Speaking of Harry, he’s adjusting to life as a big brother pretty well, although he still doesn’t like it when James cries.

We’ve also had a couple of moments though when things have got too much for Harry.
When he came into our room the other morning he told me he that he’d decided he didn’t want to be a big brother.

“Can we take James back daddy?” he asked. “I don’t want him here any more.”

A dramatic entrance

James William Wright arrived in dramatic fashion on Friday, March 23 at 2.54pm.
I say dramatic because little James somehow managed to get his shoulder trapped during delivery, prompting the midwife to pull the emergency chord.

Within seconds the room was filled with people who – and I’m not entirely sure how this happened – managed to get James out safely.

At the time I didn’t have a clue what was going on and I was terrified, particularly when a purple and, as far as I could tell unresponsive, baby boy was whisked away by a doctor. Melissa’s mum was also present for the birth and, judging by the look on her face, I was not only the one fearing the worse.

But minutes later, everything had calmed down and James, already showing off his impressive appetite, was back with his mum.

It was an extremely intense experience – and certainly not one I would like to repeat. I was so choked up that I could hardly speak when I called my mum to tell her that grandson number two had arrived.

In fact Melissa was a lot more composed than I was. “I just kept my eyes closed, I didn’t know what was going on,” she told me later. For the first time that day, I envied Melissa.

Throughout, the care we received was fantastic. Lynda, the midwife who looked after us was wonderful and didn’t tell me to shut up once. Equally, the response when James refused to come out was fantastic.

As for James, he’s doing very well under the watchful eye of big brother Harry. Harry is quite relaxed about the new arrival, although he doesn’t like it when he cries. “That baby’s whinging again, daddy,” he says. “You need to sort it out.”

The waiting continues

WITH the waiting game for the new arrival continuing, we didn't want to venture too far from home. But with the glorious weather we enjoyed last weekend, sitting in the house wasn't an option.

So it was the ideal time to get stuck into the garden. To be honest, for every weed I dug up, Harry removed at least three plants but when you're gardening with a three-year-old, that seems to be par for the course.

What I found more difficult to deal with was Harry constantly being under my feet; wherever I started to dig, I'd hear a little voice behind me: “Beep, beep, excuse me, Harry coming through.”

My main worry was Harry creeping up on me while I was wielding a spade (I'm not very safe at the best of times). Fortunately there was no damage done, but we didn't make quite as much progress as I'd hoped.

Nevertheless, we had plenty of fun and the weather was the icing on the cake – it felt like late April or early May rather than the beginning of March.

The other notable event was that Harry discovered the joys of playing on a swing. Up to this point, Harry hasn't been a fan of swings. Even when he was little, he just didn't seem to like the sensation.

We were therefore very surprised at his reaction after Melissa's dad had put up a swing in the garden.

To start with, Harry was a bit cautious; 15 minutes later, he was trying to swing while standing up.

Even when he got a bit over-adventurous and slipped off the seat, landing in a heap on the ground, he wasn't put off, dusting himself off and jumping straight back on.
And now Harry's discovered the swing, I might just be able to finish that gardening.

On standby

Well, another week has passed and – at the time of writing – there's still no sign of our new arrival.

This is all very frustrating for Melissa, who has now well and truly had enough of being pregnant. The first pregnancy was an adventure into the unknown. This time Melissa, knows exactly what's in store and, understandably, just wants to get on with it.

There's also another distinction. When Harry was born, neither of us thought very much about what would happen after the birth; we were both completely focussed on the delivery itself.

I'm sure this birth will be just as exciting, but it is tempered by the fact that we have Harry to think about – and also by the fact that we can't wait to get back to some kind of normality.

The wait is also proving frustrating for Harry, who wants his mum back to normal. Melissa can't pick Harry up as much as he's used to, or get down on the floor to play with him. He's not happy about it, either. A couple of days ago he told me: “Waiting for this baby is boring daddy. I'm getting fed up.”

As for me, well I have to admit that I'm very excited about the new arrival. In fact, it's probably fair to say that I've been driving Melissa mad over the last couple of days. Every time she so much as groans, I've been asking if she's gone into labour or whether her waters have broken. Apparently, this is annoying.

As to whether I'll still be as excited about things after two weeks of no sleep, I'm not so sure but at least I know what to expect second time around.

Food, glorious food

ONE of the many headaches of parenthood is food, specifically getting your children to eat healthily.

It's not always easy. Children seem to have an inbuilt aversion to things that are good for them, while at the same time being drawn to food that you would, in an ideal world, prefer them to steer clear of.

Harry isn't too bad on the eating front, although he will no longer drink any milk (unless it's on cereal), and he has recently developed a dislike for most things green (peas and grapes being the notable exceptions).

He will, though, eat carrots, most meat and fish, as well as apples, bananas and pears, not to mention mountains of mashed potato. Then there are yoghurts and cheese – Harry would quite happily eat these all day, every day given half a chance.

When he's poorly, though, food can become a real battleground. In fact, when he was ill a couple of weeks ago, we were trying everything to get him eating – and the only successes were yoghurts and cheese.

The there's chocolate. Now Harry may take after me when it comes to his fondness for cheese, but he's definitely his mum's son when it comes to chocolate. Honestly, his appetite for it is incredible – even when he's not well. As well as being unhealthy, it's also particularly messy; trying to keep Harry presentable when he's given a chocolate bar is a real mission impossible.

Strangely enough, though, he hasn't inherited his mum's love of sweets generally. In fact, he will spit out any type of sweet that's not got chocolate on it. I suppose we should be thankful for small mercies.

Shh... keep quiet

Harry doesn't know when to keep quiet. Most of the time, his constant chattering is funny and endearing. Sometimes, however, it can get a bit embarrassing.

Take last week. I took Harry for a swim and, as we got changed ready to go into the pool, Harry spotted a middle-aged man who had obviously just got out of the shower. Harry turned to him and, much to my surprise, and said: “Hello gentleman.”

The man politely replied hello, to which Harry responded: “You're naked.” The man looked embarrassed and continued to dry himself while Harry chanted, “naked, naked, naked” as I tried to drag him into the swimming pool.

When we got into the pool, there were a handful of adults there but no other children. Now Harry particularly likes the acoustics in swimming pools and what was a tranquil afternoon swim for the other people was rudely interrupted by the sound of Harry shouting and squealing at the top of his voice. Trying to keep him quiet would have been pointless.

Going shopping can be just as traumatic. Harry is not afraid to point to people and say, well, inappropriate things such as “why does that man smell daddy?” (loudly of course); or, “that lady's got funny hair daddy”. And he's not quiet. At least it adds a bit of spice to the weekly shop.

Then there's the early mornings. From time to time Harry will wake up particularly early (we're talking half past five here), jump into our bed and just start talking. There's no stopping him. Eventually, usually after hiding under the duvet and pretending to be asleep for half an hour, one of us gives in and takes him downstairs leaving the other breathing a sigh of a relief. Sometimes silence really can be golden.

Baby toys

WITH the new arrival only a few weeks away (Melissa's 35 weeks now but I don't think she will hang on until 40), we've been getting all of Harry's baby things down from the loft.

Of course, this prompted a great deal of excitement on Harry's part, particularly when I lifted him up so that he could see inside the loft. I remember when I was younger that lofts held a certain mysterious appeal – probably sparked by too many Enid Blyton stories – and Harry has obviously inherited this view.

In fact, Harry now refers to it as the secret loft and he is determined to make a return visit as soon as possible.

Anyway, the toys were duly unpacked and Harry decided that he wanted to play with his baby toys. Why these toys were suddenly appealing again is beyond me – after all, they hardly compare with Scalextric or train sets do they?

Having said that, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised as Harry seems to go for simple things. A 20p balloon, for instance, seems to provide more entertainment than a £20 toy, while a bucket and spade and somewhere to dig keeps Harry entertained for hours.

Speaking of which, I'm happy to report that it's not just me who's enjoying a second childhood. My dad has been busy dusting off his old train sets and setting them up for Harry.

Harry loves it but my mum is less impressed; apparently dad is now spending too much time - and money - buying new trains on ebay.

Poorly

AFTER three years of being a dad, one thing that I just cannot get used to is Harry being poorly.

To be honest, it leaves me feeling stressed – which is shorthand for grumpy.

Now we have been relatively lucky in that regard – Harry isn't a particularly sickly child, although he does struggle a bit with his tonsils. Like all children, though, he does pick up everything that's going around at playgroup.

Anyway, last week Harry picked up a cough and cold, with a slight fever thrown into the mix just to make life interesting. So, on Saturday Harry spent all day on the sofa doing absolutely nothing except watching television, reading and sleeping.

Being used to tearing around after him all day, this felt unnatural and I spent the whole day sat next to him, worrying.

By bedtime, he was shattered and although he went to sleep in his own bed, it wasn't long before he turned up in our room and I was banished to Harry's bunk. As Melissa readily pointed out the next day, I did get the better end of the deal – Harry tosses and turns at the best of times so you can imagine what he's like when he's got a fever.

We got up at 5.20am on Sunday, and Melissa had to go back to bed shortly after to get some rest while I – guilty at having had some peace during the night – tried to keep Harry entertained downstairs.

By Monday morning, he was a little brighter but still feeling rough; I felt guilty leaving Melissa to fend for herself while I went to work. Sure enough, Monday was another tough day for Melissa. Goodness knows how much harder it will be when we've got another one to look after.

Snow business...

WE HAD a dusting of snow in Chirk last weekend which gave us our first opportunity to get the sledge out for Harry.

I'm sure some people reading this will be thinking “what snow?” but, if you were awake at 7am last Sunday (we were, of course, thanks to Harry), you would have seen a reasonably heavy shower. Harry was so excited he insisted on sitting at the window to eat his breakfast.

The snow didn't last long – just long enough to cover the grass – and we were outside by 8am.

My job was to run around the garden as fast as I could while pulling Harry along on the sledge. It was not particularly dignified. Not that Harry was worried. “Come on dad, go faster,” was a typical response, as I gasped for breath.

Fortunately, Melissa came to the rescue by suggesting we jump in the car to look for a suitable hill.

We soon found a slope that was plenty fast enough and we spent a good half hour trooping up the bank and sliding down it before deciding that we were cold and wet enough.

When I say “we”, I mean Melissa and I; Harry was not at all happy at having his first proper sledging session cut short. After some bribery – chocolate of course – Harry was back in the car.

One thing I did learn, though, was that sledging isn't as easy as an adult. I couldn't resist having a go (persuading Harry wasn't easy) but I was too heavy for the sledge on that amount of snow. “Get off daddy, you're too heavy,” was Harry's rather blunt response.

Playgroup

I finally got to take Harry to playgroup last week – and it made me realise just how quickly he is growing up.

Although I'd been desperate to take him since he started in September, I hadn't had chance until last week, so it was somehow appropriate that I managed to do it on his third birthday.

After taking a few weeks to settle in, Harry now loves going to playgroup and talks about the helpers non stop so he was quite excited when he found out that daddy was taking him for a change.

Walking to the door with Harry holding my hand and chattering away made him suddenly seem very grown up and I began to wonder where three years have gone.

Anyway, we walked into the entrance hall and Harry, obviously showing off in front of me by now, hung up his coat and bag. As soon as one of the helpers opened the door to the main hall, Harry turned to me, kissed me and, as quick as a flash, was running off shouting “bye” in my direction without so much as a look back. Talk about having a lump in my throat.

The following day, I was able to take Harry to the parent and toddler group at Chirk Infants School, which is where he will be going in September.

Unlike the playgroup, I stayed with him. What was most interesting was seeing Harry in a different environment. I'm so used to him being boisterous, noisy and cheeky around the house that watching him being (relatively) quiet and shy came as something of a shock.

I have to say the school and the extremely welcoming staff left me very impressed – which makes me feel a lot better about the fact that my little boy will soon be going there every day.

No secrets

CHILDREN can make you feel incredibly guilty, as last Monday demonstrated all too clearly. After taking Harry to visit my grandad, I managed to catch his head while lifting him into his car seat.

It wasn't a big bump and there was no mark on his head but this didn't stop Harry getting quite upset – understandably perhaps – about the whole thing.

“You bumped my head daddy,” he told me through sobs. “That hurt.” I felt terrible, and tried to cheer him up by telling him that we were off to visit my mum and dad.

“I do hope nanny and grandad will be more careful with me,” he responded, just to make me feel even worse. As soon as we got to mum and dad's, Harry told them I'd bumped his head on the car.

“Daddy really hurt my head nanny,” he said as soon as he got through the door, prompting disapproving looks from mum in my direction.

He hadn't forgotten about it the next morning either, telling Melissa how I'd hurt his head, while frowning and wagging his finger in my direction.

At least it's not personal. During a shopping trip last Saturday, Melissa inadvertently trapped Harry's hand in a supermarket trolley, prompting a similar outcry. Melissa was beside herself with guilt which wasn't eased by the fact that Harry told everyone we bumped into about his poorly finger.

There's certainly no secrets with Harry.

Second time around...

With the arrival of Harry's brother or sister rapidly approaching (nine weeks and counting), I've been thinking about what I want to differently this time around.

The main thing I've decided is to let the baby sleep as much as possible. While I'm sure I'll be just as besotted with the new arrival as I was with Harry, I won't be desperately trying to wake him or her up at every opportunity. This time around I'll be happy to let sleeping babies lie.

To be fair, when Harry was born, some of my friends with children did try – politely of course – to warn me about this. “Don't wake him, just let him sleep,” they said. “He'll be awake all of the time soon enough.”

Of course I knew best and completely ignored them; after all, I wanted Harry to wake up so that I could show him off.

I've learned my lesson, though, so this time it will be a different kettle of fish. I am determined to make the most of any periods of calm as far as the baby is concerned, so there will be no waking up when visitors drop in.

In any case, we will have a demanding toddler to deal with as well so I doubt we'd get away with sitting around and cuddling the baby.

Meanwhile, the learning curve with Harry continues. Last weekend I learned that three-year-olds and decorating don't mix.

In my defence, trying to paint in a straight line while being attacked by a toddler is no easy task. As a result, it took a long time to complete what should have been a straightforward task. The finished job was, how can I put this, not quite up to scratch.

Not that Harry minded. He was more interested in leaving a trail of blue handprints around the house. Next time I get the paint out, I think Harry will have to visit nan and grandad's.

Mince pie

I could hear plenty of noise downstairs so I knew that something was going on. There was shouting, giggling, and the odd cross word from Melissa, usually followed by a bang and a crash.

When I picked up the courage to go into the kitchen, however, I wasn't expecting to be greeted by the sight of Harry sat on the table, covered from head to foot in flour and icing sugar.

“Come on daddy, you can help me with my cooking now,” he said, grinning widely. “I'm making mince pies.”

Melissa loves baking with Harry. Why, I'm not sure because the results are invariably extremely messy.

Anyway, Melissa had decided to make some mince pies, a task Harry had got stuck into by climbing on to the table, taking off his socks and grabbing a rolling pin.

By the time I arrived, it was chaos. As I say, there was flour and icing sugar everywhere, not to mention lumps of pastry flying around the room. Harry was busy cutting out shapes for the top of the mince pies, while Melissa was trying to contain as much of the mess as possible.

Remarkably, the end result was pretty tasty – in the circumstances just getting some mincemeat into the pastry cases was quite an achievement.

Anyway, the mince pies didn't last long when I took them into work. My colleagues might have been a little more reticent had they been there during the preparation but, as Terry the chef in Fawlty Towers once said, “What the eye don't see the chef gets away with.”

Aside from the chaos he creates when he's in the kitchen, Harry seems to have a bit of a talent for cooking. I think it might be a bit too soon to let him loose on the Christmas turkey just yet though.

Christmas chaos

IT'S remarkable how excited I was about a plate of mashed potato and baked beans.

But to see Harry tucking into his food after struggling with a stomach upset for more than a week was a great feeling. He'd barely eaten anything for four or five days and both Melissa and I were getting increasingly concerned at the amount of weight he'd lost.

Needless to say, Harry's illness did take some of the shine of Christmas. With him being off colour, Christmas Day was a more sedate affair than it would have been otherwise.

Having said that, I'm not sure Melissa or myself had enough energy to do anything else – with Harry being poorly, we hadn't been able to sleep properly so we were shattered too.

While it wasn't exactly the Christmas we had planned, we still had a good time. Harry was up at six on Christmas Day and the look on his face when he opened the living room door to see his new train set was magical. “Look dad, Father Christmas has left me a train set,” he shouted while hopping from one foot to the other with excitement.

I'd set the train set up on Christmas Eve – and, as usual, it had taken me a bit longer than anticipated. Needless to say, Melissa found the whole episode very amusing as I tried to decipher instructions that might as well have been written in a foreign language. Of course, it was worth it to see that reaction on Christmas Day.

By the end of the day, though Harry was absolutely exhausted – a combination of excitement and the effects of the virus – and he was asleep before six.

Unfortunately, yet another bout of sickness led to a trip to the out of hours service at the Maelor at half eleven that evening. We were worried about dehydration, but an extremely cheerful doctor reassured us after a thorough check that there was nothing to worry about. Thankfully, Harry seems to be over the worst of it now – and his appetite has certainly returned.

As I say, it may not have been the Christmas had planned, but I doubt we'll forget it in a hurry.