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.
Friday 24 February 2012
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.
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.
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.
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.
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