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.