Diary of a first time dad

Playgroup

2012-01-30T09:54:00.001Z

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

2012-01-16T13:29:00.000Z

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...

2012-01-16T13:28:00.000Z

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

2012-01-03T10:05:00.000Z

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

2012-01-03T10:04:00.000Z

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.

Christmas excitement

2011-12-19T11:40:00.001Z

AS anticipated, Christmas is causing a great deal of excitement in the Wright household.

Every day, without fail, Harry asks me if it's Christmas yet. It's the Advent calendar that's responsible for most of the fun and games, though – and restricting Harry to one chocolate per day is proving to be a difficult task.

But it's not just Harry who's getting swept up in the festive spirit. Melissa, as usual, is torturing us with endless compilations of Christmas music, while the house is filled to bursting with decorations. Honestly, I can't open a kitchen cupboard without disturbing twinkle lights or a bauble at the moment.

Despite this, I am excited about the big day. In particular, I can't wait to set up Harry's new train set (Thomas the Tank of course). There's no doubt that having children really brings out the big kid in you.

Having said that, this train set is already causing problems. When I asked Harry what he wanted for Christmas (probably in early November), he said he wanted a train set. Being organised, we decided to take advantage of a half price offer and bought one.

Typically, when we took Harry to a grotto a few days later, he told Father Christmas he wanted a racing car set. What do you do? I have tried dropping a few hints about how nice a new train set would be but so far Harry's not budging. “I want a racing car set daddy,” is his stock response.

I'm just hoping he isn't too disappointed on Christmas morning when he finds he's actually got a train set instead. And if he is, at least I'll enjoy playing with it.

One thing's for sure, I'll hold off buying presents until the last minute next year.

Sleep tight

2011-12-12T16:55:00.002Z

SLEEPING is without doubt the most discussed aspect of Harry's life in our house.

From the moment he was born, it's been our main preoccupation: how's he sleeping? Is he sleeping at the right time? Has he slept through? And so on.

I thought that this focus would wane as time went by but, so far at least, it hasn't. This is not to say that Harry is a bad sleeper. It's true that he tends to wake a bit too early for my liking (getting to seven is a cause for celebration) but generally he sleeps through without complaint.

However, the issue of bedtime has been on the agenda in recent months; it's gradually been getting later and later. To start with, we thought this was just coincidence but after a few weeks, we realised something more fundamental was affecting him, namely his nap in the day.

Although Harry is only a couple of months away from his third birthday, he's always enjoyed his midday snooze and, truth be told, Melissa and I have quite enjoyed the peace and quiet. The decision to put a stop to it, therefore, was a painful one.

For a start, Harry can be a bit of a monkey when he's in need of a nap (I now understand completely when I hear exasperated parents say “he's just tired” in an apologetic voice). Then there's the effort involved in keeping him awake – particularly if he's in a car.

The other day, I picked Harry up from my parents' house and spent the duration of the journey asking daft questions, shouting, singing and making silly noises in a desperate attempt to stop him dropping off before we got home. We made it – just – but it left me feeling very guilty, particularly after Harry looked at me with barely open eyes and said: “I just want to go to sleep daddy.”

All of this effort is worth it, though. The bedtime is now half six (it had drifted to eight-ish) and he's sleeping for a full 12 hours. At least that gives us time plenty of time to recharge our batteries too.

Big news...

2011-12-12T16:55:00.001Z

HARRY is coming to terms with some big news: he will soon have to share his home with a baby brother or sister.

I'm not sure he quite understands what a big change this is going to be (let's face it, I'm not sure I understand it fully) but his reaction so far has been thoroughly entertaining.

For a start, he tells everybody he's having a baby sister. The truth is we don't know what we're having and we don't want to. Harry, however, is so confident when he says he's having a little sister that people think we're hiding something. Even my mum suspects that we've found out, told Harry, and then decided not to tell anyone else.

He's also taken to telling people that he's got Peppa Pig and Barney (his cuddly little dinosaur) in his tummy. “They'll be out soon, like the baby in mummy's tummy,” he tells people earnestly. Occasionally he will study Melissa's bump for a few minutes before asking: “Can we get that baby out yet?”

In preparation for the new arrival, Harry decided that he would get out his old travel cot. After helping him to set it up I popped out of the room. When I returned a minute or so later, Harry was lying down in to the cot. When I asked him what he was doing, he replied: “I'm waiting here until that baby comes.”

As I say, I suspect that Harry might find things a little bit more challenging when the baby does arrive – it's due in March – particularly when he realises he's got competition for his mum's attention.

Nevertheless, when I got home from work the other night, Harry gave me a demonstration on how to hold a baby properly using one of his cuddly toys (Melissa had been giving him lessons). He was very gentle, which was something of a surprise as Harry can be a little heavy handed. Perhaps there's nothing to worry about after all.

Honesty is the best policy

2011-11-25T14:10:00.001Z

I've known for some time that Harry does not understand tact. This was made perfectly clear to me when I asked him why he didn't like lying next to me in bed.

“It's because you're too hairy, daddy,” he told me. “It's not very nice.”

Fortunately, these rather blunt declarations have been limited to Melissa and myself so far – but all that changed last weekend when a friend of mine visited.

Harry hadn't met this friend – who will remain nameless – before and was, to start with at least, fairly cautious. However, he soon found his feet.

Unfortunately, this friend of mine had been out for a few drinks the previous evening and had, I would guess, decided upon a kebab on the way the home.

Harry obviously picked up on this too. While we were standing in the kitchen, Harry asked me what the funny smell was. Trying to be polite, I replied that it was probably the sausages I'd cooked earlier.

“No it's not,” came the reply. “It smells poo-ey.” I swiftly changed the subject.
Some time later, Harry was sat next to this friend in the back of my car while we went to an indoor play area.

“You smell funny,” Harry announced. My friend either didn't hear or pretended not to hear.

By this point, I was struggling somewhere between acute embarrassment and desperately trying not to burst out laughing.

To be honest, it was almost a relief when my friend left. I asked Harry if he'd had fun. “Yes I did,” came the answer, “but your friend is a bit smelly.”

At least I know who to go to if I ever want an honest opinion.

Don't panic!

2011-11-18T15:23:00.000Z

I have discovered several new emotions since Harry arrived on the scene; from a feeling of pride when Harry does something well, to the sense of hopelessness you feel when he's ill and you can't do anything to help him.

However, one of the most powerful emotions is panic. When you suddenly realise something is wrong, it's as if the pit of your stomach has just dropped out – rather like being trapped on a particularly violent rollercoaster.

It happened to me last weekend when we took Harry to Chirk Castle. He was tearing up and down a ramp, completely oblivious to my warnings about tripping over and hurting himself. As I stood watching him, he tripped and fell landing, chin first, with a thud.

Fortunately he wasn't hurt and was back on his feet within seconds – and the feeling of panic passed just as quickly as it arrived. I had the same feeling when Harry disappeared recently at a playbarn.

For what seemed like minutes but was actually probably no more than 30 seconds, I couldn't see him anywhere. Then I spotted him – he'd somehow managed to find a way into the out-of-bounds area behind the play equipment.

It's reassuring to know that Melissa suffers just as badly from 'Harry panic'. At swimming last week, she convinced herself that Harry had swallowed her pound coin from the locker and proceeded to bang his back in an attempt to get him to cough it back up.

Harry, obligingly, started coughing which made her panic even more. I'm not sure how long this went on for, and I can only imagine what the people in surrounding cubicles thought of the commotion. Eventually, Melissa decided that he must have swallowed it and survived and gave up the rescue operation – before finding the coin clasped very tightly in his hand.

Grandparents

2011-11-11T12:52:00.001Z

We all know that Harry can wrap any one of us around his little finger whenever he wants. All he has to do is flash one his cheeky smiles, grab us for a cuddle or say the right thing and we give in.

Today, Harry had me dancing around his playroom to the sound of the Wombles (don't ask) at half past seven this morning. It was not a pretty sight.

But if Melissa and I find it hard to say no to Harry, his grandparents are even worse. It wouldn't be fair to say he gets everything he asks for, but it wouldn't bee too wide of the mark either.

Whenever he stays at Melissa's mum and dad's, for instance, he asks for bacon and egg for breakfast – something he doesn't have at home – and, invariably, he gets it.

It's the same with my mum and dad and I'm absolutely sure Harry knows he can get away with far more when he's there.

Not that this worries me. When I was little, going to nan and grandad's was always a treat and I'll be quite happy if Harry grows up thinking the same thing – just as long as he doesn't expect the same treatment at home.

On this subject, though, I would like to apologise to my dad for landing him with a bit of a headache. A couple of weeks ago I told Harry that I had an old Scalextric set in the loft that I would get down for him (Harry has his own mini set). I couldn't find it, however, and soon realised that it must be at mum and dad's.

Harry, of course, wasn't about to let the matter rest and pestered dad into venturing into his loft. Unfortunately when dad found the set it didn't work and, according to mum, he then spent hours hunched over the cars trying to repair them in time for Harry's next visit. In the end, he managed to get one of the cars working which, given that the set is probably about 25 years old, was some achievement.

Harry, though, was not as impressed. When I asked him if he liked the racing car, he told me: “Yes but only the blue car works daddy. Granddad couldn't mend the other one.”

Fright night...

2011-11-11T12:51:00.000Z

A Halloween party for ten children. How hard can it be? In a word, very.

We'd decided it would be a good idea to host a Halloween party and, in my naivety, I had imagined a couple of spooky-themed party games followed by sandwiches and cake.

The reality – with half a dozen or so children chasing each other around the house – was somewhat different and I was surprised at just how much noise a room full of children can make.

Anyway, Harry was quite excited at the prospect of the party. Unfortunately, when it got under way, Harry took exception to other boys and girls using his toys. Consequently, I spent the first 15 minutes making Harry hand back the toys he had grabbed off his unsuspecting guests.

With order restored, Harry decided he wanted some crisps. “I'll take them to the boys and girls,” he announced. To be fair, he did manage to hand out – literally – one or two crisps while putting as many in his own mouth as he could manage.

Then it was time for pass the parcel. Harry was first to sit down but when he was handed the present, he wanted to open it rather than pass it on. We managed one minute 29 seconds of 'Ghostbusters' before a rushed and slightly fraught game was brought to a conclusion. With a mini riot looming, the planned apple bobbing was swiftly abandoned.

There was a brief respite when the food arrived and the room fell silent. The peace didn't last long though, and it was at about this point that Harry decided to take off his clothes. Apparently, somebody had spilled juice on his toe. Before I could stop intervene, his skeleton costume was in a heap on the floor and Harry was racing off in just his vest and pants.

But while it may not have been the relaxing Sunday afternoon I had envisaged, it was good fun. Will we be having another party next year? I'll get back to you.

All smiles

2011-10-31T09:29:00.001Z

NOT long after Harry was born, a friend said to me: “If you think being a parent's good now, wait until Harry's two or three, when he's talking.”

At the time, I didn't think things could get any better; now I understand exactly what my friend meant.

Harry is able to articulate his emotions more clearly than ever. This morning, as I was about to leave for work, he said to me with an earnest expression on his face: “I don't want you to go to work ever Daddy. Ever, ever, ever. I want you to stay here with me.”

I felt guilty all day.

Of course the reverse is true when I arrive home. I'm welcomed in a blur of limbs and excited chattering, as Harry attempts to relate the events of the day in about two minutes.

I've also noticed that this welcome is even warmer if Harry's just had a telling off from his mum.

But perhaps the best welcome was at his swimming class a couple of weeks ago.
I finished work early and was able to sneak into the back of the viewing gallery at Waterworld to watch the second half of the lesson.

About five minutes before the end of the lesson, Harry spotted me. The smile he gave was fantastic, all the more so because it was completely natural (unlike some of the smiles he gives – particularly when he wants his own way).

He beamed at me for the remainder of the class and ran straight over to me when it finished. Despite getting soaking wet, I felt about 50 foot tall. If there's a better feeling in the world, then I've yet to discover it.

Silent night?

2011-10-24T09:57:00.001+01:00

I know that being a parent is all about making sacrifices.

Whether it’s turning down that trip to the pub because you’re going to be up early the next day or going along to a birthday party rather than the football, parenthood changes your priorities completely.

And as I’ve said on several occasions, I would not change it for the world. Having just been banished from my bed to make way for Harry, though, I’m beginning to understand that so far I’ve got off lightly.

Harry had been feeling off colour for a few days. A blocked nose had been waking him up during the night and on several occasions he’d relocated to our bedroom.

Generally one of us would try to guide him back to his own room, but on a few occasions we’d taken the easy option and allowed him go to sleep between us. But with Harry snoring and tossing and turning, Melissa and I were both struggling to sleep which wasn’t helping matters.

Melissa was obviously suffering more than me and it all got too much for her last Friday when I was unceremoniously ejected from the bed. This meant sleeping in Harry’s bunk, which was evidently designed for children.

I managed to bump my head, my back and goodness knows what else trying to get comfortable, before finally dropping off just in time to be woken by Harry, who leaned to within an inch of my face before saying, loudly: “Hello daddy, why are you in my bed?” “Because you’re in my bed,” I replied. “Can I go back to my bed now?” “Mummy says no, sorry daddy. Let’s go and build a train track.”

So there we are, evicted from my own bed. Melissa said she slept much better thanks to the extra space created by my departure, so at least somebody was pleased with the arrangement. Harry has recovered so we’re now sleeping again. I can’t help feeling that I’d better get used that bunk though.

Kitchen chaos

2011-10-17T10:37:00.000+01:00

Melissa: “Martin, what time will you be home?”

Me: “I don’t know… about half six. Why?”

Melissa: “Harry is emptying the spice rack into a saucepan. There’s Chinese five spice everywhere. Oh dear, now he’s got a whisk and icing sugar. Harry stop that now. Are you sure you can’t be home any earlier?”

Me: “Erm I’ll try to leave as soon as possible, but it won’t much before half six. What do you mean there’s five spice everywhere. What’s going on?”

Melissa: “Just hurry up.” Phone line goes dead.

This is the conversation I had with Melissa earlier this week while sitting on the Leader’s newsdesk surrounded by bemused colleagues. To be honest, I was a bit bemused too – and a little bit worried about what I might find when I got home.

As it turns out, by the time I got home order had been restored and Melissa had somehow managed to clean the kitchen. It turns out that as a reward for being such a good boy, Melissa had promised to help Harry bake a cake.

Unfortunately, I had done the shopping last weekend and had forgotten to buy eggs so the cake-making was off the agenda. Harry – who certainly fancies himself as a cook – was not to be deterred. He had emptied whatever he could get his hands on into a saucepan and proceeded to whisk away in a cloud of icing sugar and spices.

Melissa looked worn out – the episode had obviously been stressful. All things considered, I was grateful to have been in work. It reinforces my view that going to work is the easy end of the deal; looking after a two-and-a-half-year-old trumps being a journalist every time.

Car cleaning

2011-10-11T10:29:00.000+01:00

WHEN I was younger I used to wonder why on earth my dad made so much fuss about us eating in his car.

The merest hint of a sausage roll would have my dad breaking out in a sweat, leading to a sharp exchange with mum. “You’re not going to let them eat in the car again are you?” he’d say, to which my mum would reply: “Don’t worry, they won’t make a mess.”

Funnily enough, I remember the sausage rolls but I don’t really remember the mess they left behind.

Now, however, I can see where dad was coming from. Whenever Harry has a snack in the car, the fallout somehow seems to cover the entire vehicle.
Of course, there’s also the sticky and/or greasy finger prints on the doors and windows. In short, keeping the car habitable is no easy task.

Mind you, I get off lightly. Melissa has to ferry Harry around in her car almost every day and by the time the weekend arrives, her car looks like a bomb (of the pastry or crisp persuasion) has exploded in it.

Not that Harry minds. As I’ve said before, he loves cleaning and he always jumps at the chance to vacuum the car – so it’s a win win situation for him.

Unfortunately, cleaning the car can be a long process particularly when you have to share the vacuum cleaner with Harry.

Dusting is not without its difficulties either – the other day I caught Harry trying to push the nozzle of the polish can into the CD player. When I asked him why, he told me it was dirty. Serves me right for asking I suppose.

In fact, we often end up with more fingerprints on the windows after cleaning the car. But at least Harry enjoys himself.

Goldfish watch

2011-10-04T14:10:00.001+01:00

I’VE never been a big fan of pets.

I put this lack of enthusiasm down to my childhood. My mum used to say that with four children, there was no room for any other animals in the house.

However, I have read many good parenting articles that suggest it’s good for children to have contact with pets from a young age. Melissa’s mum had obviously read something similar because a few months ago she decided to buy Harry a fish tank with all the trimmings. All I had to do was supply the fish.

To be honest, goldfish seemed like a reasonable compromise. Initially, Harry was very interested in them; he would press his nose up against the tank and make ‘O’ shapes with his mouth to mimic the fish, which he named Orange and Red (because of their colour).

Harry was also determined to find out what happened when he shook the tank, which meant that poor old Orange and Red had to be under constant surveillance.

However, this initial enthusiasm quickly waned and looking after the fish fell to me. “I’m not cleaning them, that’s your job,” was Melissa’s judgement on the matter. So apart from the weekly water change, things have settled down to the point where I thought Harry had actually forgotten all about them.

But it seems Harry now has a renewed interest in the welfare of Orange and Red. When I returned home from work the other day, Melissa told me that Harry had fed them in the morning. Unfortunately, he’d then tried to put a banana in the tank (which thankfully has a lid on it) because, he said, they were still hungry.

Needless to say, the surveillance operation is back in full swing.

Food, glorious food

2011-09-23T14:02:00.001+01:00

IN the two and a half years since Harry arrived on the scene, without doubt the most consistently stressful aspect of life has been mealtimes.

There is pressure – from the minute babies are born – to make sure they are feeding properly. There’s the whole breast milk versus bottle milk debate and, as soon as that one is dealt with, you have the challenge of weaning.

It has to be said that we were pretty fortunate with Harry. He had a big appetite from the moment he arrived and that took away a fair amount of stress. The switch to solids was also relatively straightforward – you could puree up just about anything and Harry would devour it without complaint.

Since he turned two, however, things have changed. Don’t get me wrong, he still loves food and his big appetite remains but there are now some things that he refuses to put anywhere near his mouth.

Trying to be a responsible parent in these circumstances is challenging. Of course you want your child to grow up eating fruit and vegetables and nothing processed. The reality – at least in our case – is that that you have to compromise.

Harry loves certain fruits – particularly bananas, grapes, pears and apples. Try getting him to eat tomato or melon, however, and you’re likely to end up wearing it. On the vegetable front, he’s pretty good and will eat just about anything if he’s in a good mood, although his favourites are potato, sweetcorn, peas and, somewhat surprisingly, courgettes.

Typically, Harry also loves plenty of things he shouldn’t: crisps, biscuits and, just like his mum, chocolate and lots of it. He eats cheese at every opportunity and would probably have baked beans for every meal given half a chance.

Harry’s favourite meal, though, would probably be a roast with all the trimmings. In that sense at least, he takes after me.

England or Wales?

2011-09-19T12:04:00.001+01:00

THERE’S always been a little bit of tension in our household about Harry’s nationality.

Harry was born in Wales and his mum is Welsh, and very proud of it. I, on the other hand, am English, and also proud of it. We’ve come to an agreement that Harry will decide where his loyalties lie when he’s older (and, more importantly, which football, rugby teams, and so on he will support).

At least he won’t have much of a choice when it comes to cricket – there is only one national side with Test status and that’s England.

Regardless of the nationality debate, because we live in Wales Harry will be taught Welsh at school and I agree completely with Melissa that this is a very good thing indeed. In fact, it’s already started now that he’s attending Chirk pre-school playgroup four days a week.

When I was putting Harry to bed the other night, as he was drifting off to sleep he started singing un, dau, tri (one, two, three) to himself. I was very impressed and immediately told Melissa about it. Of course, she knew already and told me that the same day he’d said bore da to the ladies greeting him at playgroup. I was even more impressed.

I asked him about this the following day and Harry proudly told me that he said bore da when he went to playgroup.

Melissa has already decided that I need to learn Welsh so that I will be able to help Harry with his homework. So the pressure’s on. I am actually looking forward to it, although I’m sure Harry will pick it up a lot more quickly than I will.

Funny phrases

2011-09-09T16:06:00.001+01:00

Harry’s little phrases are a constant source of amusement. Honestly, at times it’s like listening to an old man. Shortly before I was due to leave work the other day, I got a call from home. It was Melissa. “Harry wants to speak to you,” she said.
There was some fumbling then Harry’s voice: “Don’t be home late daddy. I want you to mow the lawn.”
And there’s plenty more where that came from. One of his favourite questions when I arrive home is: “Any news? Any good news? Any bad news?”
If you ask Harry how he is, he invariably replies: “Not bad thank you.”
Perhaps his favourite question is: “What are you talking about?” This comes up all the time, particularly when Harry enters a room in the middle of conversation – he obviously doesn’t like to miss out.
If I’m ignoring him and he wants to get my undivided attention, Harry has a habit of climbing up onto my knee, taking hold of my face and saying: “Daddy, be quiet, Harry’s talking, it’s very important.”
Of course there’s also the ultimate question: why. We’ve had a lot of this lately. Whenever Harry sees something new, he wants to know why. If you ask him not to touch something, he wants to know why. This can be frustrating after a while – for both of us.
At other times, he simply copies things he’s heard one of us saying. The other day as he got up off the sofa, he put his hands on his legs and said: “Oh my knees” – a phrase he’s picked up from Melissa’s dad.
The best bit is when Harry unexpectedly announces “I love you daddy”. This is, however, rare and even then often follows the distribution of chocolate buttons. It’s still great though.

Something's wrong

2011-09-09T16:05:00.002+01:00

FOR some reason, I had an inkling that something was wrong before I opened the door. When I did so, my suspicions were confirmed by the look of resignation on Melissa’s face and by the extremely unpleasant smell coming from the kitchen.

A shelf had collapsed in one of our kitchen cupboards and the only item to smash, unfortunately, was a bottle of fish sauce – a potent concoction made of fermented fish and used in Thai dishes.

I immediately asked where Harry was (he was nowhere to be seen), and Melissa told me he was on his potty in the living room. Fortunately, he was out of the way when the shelf fell down, although he was quite excited by the noise and had been quite keen to help Melissa clean up.

Things, however, were about to take a turn for the worse. I walked in to the living room to find Harry stood up pointing at the carpet shouting: “Poo on floor daddy.”

For some reason, Harry had decided to empty out the contents of his potty, and it wasn’t pleasant. When I asked Harry why, he tucked his chin into his chest and said: “Don’t know daddy, sorry.”

Melissa was at a loss to explain Harry’s behaviour. Apparently he’d been really good all day and wasn’t even particularly tired (the most common excuse for naughty behaviour).

Anyway, the combination of fish sauce and the potty incident prompted a frenzied spell of cleaning from Melissa, while I got the less challenging task of putting Harry to bed.

When I returned downstairs, everything was back to normal – apart from a strong smell of bleach. I don’t think we’ll be having Thai curry for a while though.

Wake up call

2011-09-09T16:05:00.001+01:00

Harry is nothing if not inventive – and he is particularly creative when it comes to waking me up in a morning.

The other morning, I heard Harry padding into our bedroom but before I could open my eyes, he’d jumped on to my pillow, grabbed my face and told me it was time to wake up and clean the cars.

This was, it has to be said, a bit much first thing in the morning but at least it wasn’t the most painful wake-up call I’ve had.

That award goes to the day when Harry decided to carry the Argos catalogue into our bedroom. It’s a pretty hefty publication but on this occasion he managed to get it into our bedroom and somehow hoist it up onto the bed before finding the strength to drop it on my head.

It was a bit of a shock. “Sorry daddy,” he said as I rubbed me head furiously. “It’s a bit heavy for Harry.”

Unfortunately, the Argos catalogue is currently Harry’s favourite book – even overtaking the Three Billy Goats Gruff – and he will sit for ages, flicking through the pages saying he “needs” this or that. He even takes the book to his bedroom at night to keep it safe.

When I ask him who’s going to bring him all of these things he needs, his reply is always the same: “Santa.”

I’ve tried to explain that Christmas is still a long way off but Harry is undeterred. At this rate, the book might have to go missing soon – otherwise, it’s going to seem like a very long time until Santa squeezes down our chimney.

Fashion advice

2011-09-09T16:04:00.000+01:00

I THINK it’s fair to say that everybody finds parents embarrassing from time to time.

It’s particularly bad, if I recall correctly, from the age of about 12 to 16. At this stage of your life, pretty much everything your parents do makes you want the ground to open and swallow you up.

I am reconciled to this eventuality; Harry, I am sure, will be utterly embarrassed by me in future. What I wasn’t prepared for, however, was Harry dishing out fashion advice to me just yet.

I was therefore a bit shocked when Harry told me that he didn’t like my tie shortly before I left the house to go to work the other morning. “It’s pink daddy,” he announced. “Pink is for girls.”

Suitably chastised, I changed my tie. “That’s better daddy,” was Harry’s conclusion. Anyway, he’s now taking matters into his own hands and choosing clothes for me to wear. Generally, anything stripy is good (“Harry likes stripes too, daddy”) and anything else, well, causes friction.

The side effect of all this fashion advice is a very messy bedroom floor – Harry likes to take every item of clothing out of the wardrobe when deciding whether or notI should wear it.

Some days, though, I get it right. “I like your shirt daddy,” he said yesterday morning. He even told me morning that he wanted a shirt, suit and tie like mine. “And a case to put my dinner in,” he added.

At least it’s not just me in the firing line. When Harry stayed at my parents’ house a couple of weeks ago, he made my mum change her top because he didn’t like the colour.

As Harry is fond of saying, “I am a bossy boots.” He’s spot on with that even if his fashion advice is a little bit suspect.

Bedtime

2011-08-16T10:46:00.001+01:00

WE’RE having plenty of fun putting Harry to bed at the moment.

I’m not really sure why bedtime is proving to be so tricky but, whatever the reason, as soon as Harry sees his bed he seems to find new reserves of energy. On a couple of occasions it has taken more than an hour for him to drop off, which is hardly ideal.

Whenever I put Harry to bed, I always try to make sure he’s a calm as possible, speaking quietly and trying not to get him excited. Most of the time, I fail miserably and within minutes he’s bouncing around the bed while I try to persuade him to lie still.

In response, my tactics start with persuasion, then switch to bribery before ending up – usually – with a stern telling off. Harry’s response, generally, is to laugh leaving me wondering what I’m doing wrong.

Reading a story to him doesn’t seem to have the desired calming effect either. In fact, his favourite book at the moment – the Three Billy Goats Gruff – has precisely the opposite effect and whenever big bad troll is mentioned, Harry joins in with the action, growling and baring his teeth.

Eventually, he does give up, exhausted, leaving a frazzled parent in his wake.

There have been a couple of entertaining moments along the way though. On one occasion, Melissa crept upstairs to do the ironing while I took Harry to bed. Harry then announced he needed the toilet, jumping out of bed and heading for the bathroom in our bedroom, prompting Melissa to hide behind the bedroom door before dashing downstairs, desperately trying to avoid being caught.

And the other night, I popped my head around his door to tuck him in – only to find he had disappeared. After a few seconds of blind panic, I heard snoring and found Harry fast asleep – underneath his bed.

The conductor

2011-08-16T10:45:00.000+01:00

I’M FAST learning that it’s difficult to have secrets when you’re a parent.

Harry is quite happy to tell anybody – including perfect strangers – everything. Most of the time, this isn’t particularly interesting but at times it can be quite embarrassing.

Earlier this week, for instance, I arrived home from work and Harry ran over to me telling me how he’d got a poorly leg. It turned out he’d fallen over earlier in the day and grazed his knee – but there was no way he was going to let his mum get away without telling me.

I had been caught out in similar circumstances a couple of days earlier when Harry told Melissa how he’d fallen off a chair while I was making his tea. As I say, you can’t get away with anything.

On Saturday, when we visited Chirk Hospital Fete, Harry was absolutely mesmerised by Ifton Colliery Band.

As soon as the band started playing, Harry began waving his arms to mimic the conductor, singing Ten Green Bottles at the top of his voice, even though that particular song wasn’t part of the band’s repertoire.

He refused to move until they had finished playing, whereupon he started asking them to play Happy Birthday for daddy. “It’s daddy’s birthday soon,” he pleaded. As I say, there’s no escape.

Eventually, we managed to distract Harry by promising him a ride on the Glyn Valley Tramway Trust’s train. We did have a great time at the fete, though, and Melissa even picked up a second for her damson jam. Not that Harry noticed; by this time was back in front of the band waving his arms and singing Ten Green Bottles.

Never a dull moment

2011-08-04T17:13:00.000+01:00

It goes without saying that life with Harry is never dull. In fact, it’s getting more entertaining by the week.

When I arrived home the other day, I found both Melissa and Harry covered – literally from head to foot – in emulsion. It turns out that Melissa had decided it would be a good idea for Harry to help her paint his playhouse.

Of course Harry was delighted to get stuck in and, judging by the photographs, had a whale of a time. Unfortunately, since this rather messy episode, Harry has been determined to do more decorating and is not easily put off. When I told him we’d run out of paint, his reply was: “That’s alright daddy, you can use my paint if you want to.”

To distract him, we’ve been doing plenty of digging in the garden, which happens to be Harry’s other favourite occupation. He spends his time barking orders – dig weeds over here daddy, and so on – while I have to get down on my hands and knees and dig around in the soil.

If I’m feeling adventurous, we dig potatoes. The best bit about this is watching Harry load the potatoes into his little tractor and trailer before trundling off up the garden and delivering them to the conservatory.

I have also been trying to encourage Harry to take more of an interest in football, with mixed results. On a couple of occasions, he has really enjoyed playing and he certainly seems to have decent coordination when it comes to running and kicking a ball at the same time.

Unfortunately, and as you might expect, he doesn’t have a particularly long concentration span and we’re soon heading back to the shovels to dig again.

Regardless of this, playing football with Harry is another one of those magical moments of parenthood. Now all I’ve got to worry about is getting Harry to concentrate on a game of cricket…

Trying trains

2011-07-27T09:27:00.003+01:00

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

2011-07-27T09:27:00.001+01:00

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.

Harry Don't

2011-07-14T10:01:00.000+01:00

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.

Missing out

2011-07-04T09:33:00.002+01:00

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

2011-07-04T09:33:00.001+01:00

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.

Talking sense

2011-06-10T16:10:00.002+01:00

I'm sitting writing this waiting for Harry to go to sleep in the room next door.

At the moment, he's talking away to the various toys that share his bed, telling them about the day at the seaside he's just spent with my mum and dad.

And while I would like to go downstairs and get some tea, it’s lovely listening to him chatting away.

What it also does is reinforce how far his speech has come on since Christmas; he's now stringing long, often complicated sentences together, telling us about something that has happened or, more often, something that he wants to happen.

As my granddad said at the weekend, he's becoming a real little chatterbox. This is an understatement; Harry just doesn't stop talking.

He often surprises me by throwing a new word into conversation. The other day, for instance, he announced that we should go outside. "It's beautiful," he said, which isn't the sort of statement I'd expect to hear from a 28 month-old.

Of course, Harry's ability to pick up new words has its downsides, and we have to be careful what we say now because he's likely to repeat it, parrot-like. He's also picked up a couple of bad habits, including say "Eh?" when he doesn't quite catch what you've said. This is immediately followed by a reprimand from Melissa or myself, whereupon Harry looks sheepish and says "pardon".

Mind you, I was even more shocked the other day when I was sitting on the sofa when Harry tried to push past unsuccessfully. “Move big bottom, daddy,” he said. I was speechless.

If that's as bad as it gets, though, I think we'll have got away with it.
Anyway, he's just shouted "Daddy working on computer." I think that's my cue to go downstairs.

Locked in

2011-06-10T16:10:00.001+01:00

I’ve got a confession to make: on Sunday Harry managed to lock me in the conservatory – and with Melissa sound asleep upstairs, I was stranded.

It all happened pretty quickly. Harry and I got up at about 7am, went down and ate breakfast in the kitchen before going through to the conservatory, which has an outside door with a lock on it.

After playing for about half an hour, Harry announced that he was going to fetch his tools from the dining room and promptly disappeared next door. I flicked on the television to watch the news headlines and settled back on the sofa, waiting for Harry to return.

Sure enough, a minute or two later, Harry appeared at the door, tools in hand, but instead of coming into the room he grinned and shut the door. Again, I thought nothing of it, until I heard the lock click.

I jumped up and immediately tried the door. To my dismay, it was locked – I’d foolishly left the key in – and I was trapped. Harry soon realised I was stuck and started shouting ‘Daddy’, while I tried to keep calm and explain how to go about unlocking the door.

Despite his best efforts, though, the door remained firmly locked while I frantically tried to work out how to escape.

I knew I could get outside but as both doors into the house were locked, it wouldn’t be much use. My last resort would have been the kitchen window, but it looked very small and I wasn’t convinced I would be able to squeeze through.

So, putting aside my dented pride, I decided to try a different tactic – getting Harry to wake Melissa. Harry responded brilliantly, running to the foot of the stairs and shouting “Mummy, help daddy, now!”

Five minutes later, a sleepy looking Melissa emerged – and immediately burst out laughing when she realised what had happened, although she later told me she’d panicked when she first heard Harry shouting, worrying that I had fallen and hurt myself.

Needless to say, the key will never be left in the lock again.

Christening chaos

2011-05-31T17:39:00.001+01:00

Harry is turning out to be a bit of a singer. Clearly he doesn’t take after me; my singing career ended at the age six when I was dropped from the school choir after a particularly horrific rendition of ‘When I’m 64’.

Anyway, Harry sings at the slightest excuse, with Bob the Builder a particular favourite at the moment.

The words often get a bit jumbled, but the tune is always there. Harry’s even taken to banging away on Melissa’s piano and singing at the same time. As I say, he’s already a far more accomplished musician than I will ever be.

But my favourite musical moment so far came at a Christening last week.
Keeping Harry quiet had proved pretty difficult during the first part of the service, and we did get one or two disapproving glances from members of the congregation while we tried to keep the noise down by feeding him sandwiches and chocolate.

But we lost the battle well and truly when the priest got to the point in the ceremony where he lights a candle to symbolise turning towards the light. Harry stood up on the pew and started singing – at the top of his voice, of course – ‘Happy birthday to you’.

To be fair, one or two people giggled; several others frowned. Melissa and I were trying desperately to be serious, but it was impossible to keep a straight face.

When he’d finished singing, Harry gave himself a round of applause for good measure while we tried to get him to sit down quietly.

We’ve got another Christening next week – hopefully it will be an altogether quieter experience.

Potty training part two

2011-05-24T10:45:00.001+01:00

Harry’s potty training is going very well, and we’re now getting out and about again.

Post-nappy life isn’t without its challenges though. For instance before leaving the house now, I have to spend five or ten minutes trying to persuade, then bribe (chocolate buttons seems to do the trick most effectively), Harry to have a wee. To Harry this is one big game of course, which doesn’t make things any easier.

Then there’s the need for speed when Harry announces he wants his potty. I took him for a fairly long walk the other day and he managed to use his potty three times during the trek. On the first occasion, I only just managed to get Harry and his potty out of the pushchair in time. Crouching down on the side of a busy A5 was a first for me, but it didn’t seem to bother Harry at all. In fact, the only tricky bit was getting Harry back into his pushchair afterwards.

Being outdoors is one thing, though, and I was far more nervous about what would happen when I took Harry to an indoor play area.

So when we went last week, I admit I did consider putting Harry in a pull-up nappy before venturing on to the play equipment. My main worry was that Harry would decide he wanted the toilet when we were stuck at the top of the equipment.

However, my conscience got the better of me, and we braved it without the nappy – and it all went surprisingly well. It did cost me a flapjack to get him to go to the toilet at one point, but I was able – smugly, of course – to report to Melissa that there had been no accidents.

So Harry has taken to potty training pretty well. So well, in fact, that when I put him to bed (in a nappy) the other night, 15 minutes later he was shouting ‘Daddy, wee wee, quick’ at the top of his voice. I couldn’t ignore him obviously, but I’m sure this was just another part of Harry’s game.

Charge!

2011-05-17T09:38:00.001+01:00

Harry, like all youngsters, can get a bit carried away when he’s enjoying himself.

The other day, for instance, I arrived home to find him sat at the kitchen table painting. Two minutes later, I was sat next to him, joining in the fun. Everything was going well until I decided to lean over and paint on Harry’s piece of paper. He looked at me, help up his hand and said: “Stop daddy, Harry’s paper.”

I should, with hindsight, have left it at that. I didn’t of course, and leaned over to paint on his paper again. Five minutes later my face was covered in paint as Harry decided to put a stop to my interference once and for all. As Melissa said afterwards, it was my fault for antagonising him.

I also managed to cause trouble when we visited Chirk Castle. We had a great time running around the grounds, and Harry was particularly taken with the soldiers guarding the entrance to the castle with their pikestaffs.

Interest in history, I thought, should be encouraged, so I bought Harry a sword and helmet. I then taught him to shout “charge” and chase me. Unfortunately, Harry decided that charging at strangers with his sword raised would be much more entertaining than chasing dad.

There was one uncomfortable moment when Harry decided to attack two elderly ladies. Fortunately, I managed to grab him – much to his disgust – before any damage was done.

In the end, I convinced Harry that it was better to charge while sitting on my shoulders, which may not have been historically accurate, but was certainly safer for the other visitors. In future, though, I think I’ll concentrate on games that don’t involve swords.

First name terms

2011-05-06T14:47:00.002+01:00

Harry is a handful. From the minute he wakes up, to the moment he closes his eyes at night, he’s a bundle of energy that just doesn’t stop.

Our strategy to cope with all this energy is simple: tire him out. At the moment, this means spending as much time as possible in the garden taking part in Harry’s favourite activity – digging.

The other day, I went to get him when he woke up in the morning and his first words to me were: “Daddy, digging, outside. Now.”

He certainly likes being outdoors, although the lovely weather we’ve been enjoying lately means Melissa and I often have to chase him around the garden with the suntan lotion, which can get a bit messy. Believe me, hanging on to a determined two-year-old who’s been smothered in sun cream is a lot more difficult than it sounds.

As well as his boundless energy, Harry’s also got a wicked sense of humour. On Sunday, we were messing about in the front room and I was tickling him when he suddenly shouted: “Stop it Martin.” Now I had heard him call me Martin a couple of days earlier, but on that occasion he was just copying his mum; this time, though, it was completely unprompted.

Melissa burst out laughing, while I was left momentarily speechless. Of course, as soon as he realised he’d said something funny, Harry kept calling me Martin over and over again. His comic timing was spot on.

And it’s not just me – he’s taken to calling Melissa’s dad Terry and my dad Colin, and I’m convinced it’s just to get a laugh. Goodness knows what’s next, but we’re going to have to be very careful what we say in future.

Potty training

2011-05-06T14:47:00.001+01:00

Soon after Harry was born, a friend told me that life as a parent was a constant challenge. Just when you think you’re on top of things, she said, everything changes.

I’ve often thought of that statement since and it came to mind immediately we started potty training. Now I was dreading potty training, mainly because I hadn’t got a clue what to do.

Fortunately, Melissa was far more organised and had come up with a plan to kick things off. Essentially, this plan meant not leaving our house for several days to get Harry into the swing of using the potty without any distractions.

As it turned out, the first couple of days were as challenging as expected; eleven pairs of pants the first day, and about eight the second. I’ll admit to being slightly relieved at having to go to work. By the time I arrived home, Melissa – understandably – looked completely drained.

After that, however, things started to improve markedly and the number of accidents has now fallen to just one or two a day.

After four days of training, Melissa had to work and it was my turn to look after Harry – which did cause me some anxious moments. I must have asked him if he needed his potty at least once every five minutes and, by the end of the day, poor old Harry was looking at me in frustration saying: “No, not now daddy.”

Anyway, the warm weather meant we were at least able to play outside and Harry surprised me by taking to using his potty in the open air straight away. It means we’ve been able to spend hours on end in the garden, which is now looking very tidy this year as a result.

Two weeks on, and we’re able to get out and about – with the potty going everywhere with us, of course. There is the odd accident now and again, but it’s not half as bad as I thought it would be. Long car journeys are still a worry, but I’m sure we’ll get there somehow.

Holidays in the sun

2011-04-15T15:17:00.001+01:00

Just over 12 months ago, we went abroad for a holiday with Harry. It was good but Melissa in particular found the whole thing a bit stressful. In fact, she found it so stressful, she declared afterwards that we wouldn’t be setting foot on an aeroplane for at least four years.

Thankfully, after another bitterly cold winter, her resolve weakened and a couple of weeks ago we jetted off for some sunshine in Tenerife.

Of course, Harry’s changed a great deal in the last year – we didn’t need to worry about his food or drink this time around, which immediately made things a great deal easier. The fact that Harry is now much more content playing with his toys also made things much more straightforward on the four-and-a-half hour flight.

We spent most of the week either on the beach or playing about in the sea or swimming pool, which suited me down to the ground; my sandcastle building skills were quite impressive by the end of the week.

Melissa’s mum and dad also came with us – and there’s no doubt that having grandparents on hand helped Melissa and myself relax. As much as we both love Harry, it’s also nice to have an hour’s rest now and again, if only to get your breath back. It still amazes how much energy a two year old has.

It wasn’t all plain sailing though – literally in Harry’s case as I managed to tip him off an inflatable and into the sea, quite by accident. I was then public enemy number one for a good half hour and boy did I feel guilty when he looked at me afterwards with an expression that said: “I trusted you, how could you let me fall off?”

Still, Harry doesn’t hold grudges and he was soon back to digging sandcastles on the beach. Now I can’t wait until our next holiday – in Yorkshire. I just hope the weather’s as good so I can brush up on those sandcastle building skills.

Bad news for ducks

2011-04-14T14:02:00.001+01:00

I wrote recently about Harry picking up bad habits. Well, he’s got another and it’s not good news – particularly for ducks.

Let me explain. Harry has always enjoyed going to feed the ducks, even if he is a bit reluctant to hand over the bread most of the time (he prefers to eat it himself).

However, when we visited the Mere in Ellesmere a couple of weeks ago, his attitude had changed. Instead of throwing bread towards the swans, Harry charged towards them shouting ‘Shoo!’ at the top of his voice. As if that wasn’t enough, he also started swinging his leg as if he was about to aim a kick at them.

I grabbed him, of course, and gave him a ticking off, although I must admit, it was difficult to keep a straight face. I then told him to say sorry to the ducks, which he did – reluctantly.

Within minutes, however, he was chasing the swans again, shouting ‘shoo!’

By this time, we were drawing disapproving glances from other people, and one family – feeding the ducks without incident – looked particularly unimpressed.

We swiftly moved on to the playground – thankfully a duck free zone – before we were escorted from the mere side.

I’ve since been doing my best Poirot impersonation, trying to find out who he’s copying but so far my investigation has proved fruitless – and Harry’s not for telling me either.

Whoever’s responsible, though, it’s clear that feeding the ducks with Harry will never be a very relaxing experience.

Flattery?

2011-04-14T14:01:00.000+01:00

IF imitation really is the sincerest form of flattery, then we must be doing something right with Harry.

He mimics just about everything we do, from facial expressions to phrases, leaving us in fits of laughter most of the time.

Melissa, for instance, has a habit of shrugging her shoulders when she says ‘don’t know’. Harry has now developed the same habit, although in his case, it’s basically a stock answer when he’s challenged about why something is broken.

Harry’s also got a great ‘hurt’ look that he must have copied from somewhere (I blame Melissa), which he employs very effectively if we say no to him. It’s often accompanied by a ‘please…’ which, as he’s well aware, makes you feel like a terrible parent.

My personal favourite, however, is Harry mimicking me having a shave. Harry stands on the toilet, toothbrush in hand, dipping it in the water and scraping it along his face every time I pick up the razor. It’s hilarious, if a bit messy.

Of course, we’re also conscious that Harry will also pick up any of our bad habits, and Melissa and I have to be on our toes constantly to make sure we don’t say anything out of turn in his earshot.

My brother, Barry, who loves nothing more than making mischief, managed to cause trouble when he visited my mum and dad recently. Barry – despite protests from my mum warning that Harry would copy – decided it would be a good idea to sit on the coffee table.

Harry, who hadn’t shown any interest in the table previously, was soon sat on it – proud as punch – with his feet up, grinning wickedly at my poor mum. And I can tell you with absolute certainty Harry knew exactly what he was doing.

Trouble in the supermarket

2011-03-25T14:23:00.000Z

Sometimes I get a little bit overconfident when I’m looking after Harry – and it invariably leads to trouble.

It’s happened a couple of times this week. On the first occasion, Harry and I were doing the weekly shop and I decided (and I’ve still no idea why) that I would allow him to get out of the trolley and walk around the supermarket holding my hand. This, it has to be said, was not a very good idea.

Within minutes, it was chaos. Harry was trying to escape, leaving a trail of fruit and veg on the floor, while I was frantically trying to pick up the debris with one hand and grab him with the other. When I finally managed to get hold of Harry, he tried to wriggle free by making his body completely floppy – that peculiar technique young children develop for evading adults. He ended up in a heap on the floor with me stood over him trying to sound stern but reasonable which, given the flustered state I was in, wasn’t easy.

Of course, when I returned home it soon became clear that I’d manage to forget half of the items I was supposed to buy. Frankly, though, it was the least of my worries.

The following day we decided to clean the cars and, thankfully, Melissa was on hand to lend some support. We dressed Harry in his all-in-one, wellies and hat, and with his reins wrapped around my arm, we set to work.

To be honest, it wasn’t a complete disaster and our cars did get a bit of a clean. However, after just a couple of minutes, Harry was soaked from head to toe. A couple of minutes later, I was dripping wet too when he decided to my head needed a wash.

Then it was Melissa’s turn. Harry managed to wrest control of the hose from her grasp and promptly directed into her wellies. She was not amused, and it might be some time before the cars get another spruce up.

Green fingers

2011-03-25T14:21:00.000Z

I’m starting to think that Harry is going to be a green-fingered sort when he’s older.

He’s certainly very enthusiastic about getting stuck in when it comes to digging in the garden, and he gets extremely excited at the prospect of digging up produce.

I think his enthusiasm goes back to September when Harry and I spent an afternoon digging up the last of the potatoes. Harry was fascinated and whenever he eats potatoes now, he says: “Daddy, dig, ‘tatoes, Harry.”

Now, with the weather starting to improve, we’ve been able to get in the garden again – and Harry certainly hasn’t forgotten about the potatoes.

Last weekend, we spent an afternoon clearing and tidying. While Melissa concentrated on the flower beds, Harry and I tackled the vegetable plot. Harry was like a little shadow, pushing his wheelbarrow around piled high with his shovel, spade and rake.

Out first job was getting up the remaining parsnips. Harry did end up on his bottom a few times when the vegetables refused to budge but, on the whole, it went reasonably well.

Then we had to dig over the rest of the plot, a job Harry enjoyed, particularly when we found a few potatoes still in the ground. This really fired Harry’s enthusiasm and he spent the next half hour digging frantically and excitedly handing me stones and clumps of mud, saying: “Daddy, ‘tatoes.”

What amazed me, though, was Harry’s concentration. Normally his attention wanes after about 20 minutes but in all he was out with me for an hour and a half – and he didn’t try to escape once. In fact, the only reason we had go inside was to give Harry his tea.

I’ll certainly have no excuse for an untidy garden this summer.

CD chaos

2011-03-14T15:44:00.000Z

FOR many men, their CD collection is among their most prized possessions. In my case, the order (alphabetical by artist, with albums arranged in order of release date) is also critical.

Harry clearly doesn’t share my enthusiasm. My precious CD collection is tucked away in two large cupboards behind the door in our bedroom.

Until recently, even when Harry did notice these mysterious cupboards, he wasn’t quite strong enough to open them. However, that all changed last week when Harry worked out how to open the doors and promptly set about rearranging my CDs.

Of course, this all happened while I was at work, so you can imagine my distress when I walked into our bedroom to find cases, inlay cards and CDs strewn across the floor.

Harry had obviously taken a dislike to one particular cover and had decided to tear it in two, while I still haven’t managed to track down one disc that has mysteriously disappeared.

Melissa, who cannot fathom my obsession with CDs, was less than sympathetic.

I suppose it’s just one of the hazards of having a toddler roaming around the house. That’s not say that Harry is particularly naughty when it comes to grabbing things he shouldn’t; in fact, he’s very good most of the time. When he’s tired, though, nothing is safe.

Earlier this week, I called to pick Harry up from my parents’, only to find my dad trying to get the television to switch on. Apparently, a tired Harry had managed to press something that had stopped it working. Thankfully there was no permanent damage – which is more than can be said for my CD collection.

Words...

2011-03-09T10:55:00.001Z

I imagine it’s fairly common for toddlers to have favourite words. Harry’s favourite changes every couple of weeks – often provoking a fair amount of amusement in the process.

A couple of weeks ago it was beer. I thought this was hilarious, even if it was a little bit uncomfortable when he told strangers he was having beer for tea (it wasn’t true, obviously).

My mum and nan, however, were less than impressed when Harry started shouting beer during a trip to the supermarket, so it was quite a relief when he decided that his new favourite word was ‘naughty’.

At the moment, everyone is naughty. On Saturday morning, Harry woke Melissa up telling her she was naughty for leaving her coat hanging on the back of a chair. ‘Away,’ he said, pointing earnestly to the wardrobe. I keep getting told off for leaving drawers open or for not shutting doors.

Harry certainly knows what he’s doing – and he knows when he says something funny or cheeky; you can tell by the wicked smile afterwards.

He’s also not averse to a bit of emotional blackmail to get his own way. I took him to the supermarket last weekend and, after being pretty well behaved and sitting in his trolley for the best part of an hour, he suddenly decided he wanted to get out. I tried bribing him with chocolate buttons, but by the time we got to the checkout, he was practically standing on the seat trying to climb out.

It turned into a battle of wills – and I was determined to keep him in the trolley. However, my resistance crumbled when he held his arms in the air and said: ‘Daddy, cuddle. Please.’ What could I do? The cheeky grin told the world he’d beaten me. Little rascal.

The Three Peaks revisited

2011-03-01T11:56:00.001Z

I know it's a couple of years since we did it, but I stumbled across this YouTube slideshow of our Three Peaks challenge the other day.

For those who don't know, we did complete it in 24 hours. Good memories.

Baking

2011-03-01T11:44:00.001Z

Melissa is braver than me; whereas I tend to shy away from Harry’s more messy activities, Melissa embraces them with relish.

Unfortunately, there was no escape last weekend when Melissa told Harry we would be baking.

Harry had tried his hand at baking a few days earlier – and, of course, thoroughly enjoyed himself. There were, Melissa told me later, a couple of disasters along the way: blue food dye was thrown everywhere and hundreds and thousands ended up in the quiche. On the whole, though, Harry had been very good, she said.

Despite these reassurances, though, I wasn’t convinced and, I admit, I was a nervous wreck when we started baking cakes. Harry was beside himself with excitement and set about cracking the eggs gleefully. As you can probably imagine, his hands were covered in it.

We did end up with a fair amount of shell in the mixture, which put me off straight away. I simply don’t like the thought of crunchy fairy cakes.

But while I was trying to fish out pieces of shell, Harry was busy tipping flour into the mixture. It was chaos, and the kitchen was practically engulfed in a cloud of flour.

By this point, Melissa seemed to be having as much fun as Harry, and she particularly enjoyed my futile attempts to restore order. Eventually, we somehow managed to get some of the mixture into the cake mould, although there were very few chocolate chips left by this point; Harry had eaten most of them before we had the chance to get our hands on them.

Incredibly, the cakes tasted fine at the end of it all, which probably means we’ll be doing it all over again this weekend. I can’t wait.

Gentle wake? No chance

2011-02-23T11:12:00.001Z

I DON’T think I’ll ever get used to Harry’s ability to go from being fast asleep to wide awake within seconds. Honestly, it’s as if someone flicks a switch and he’s off, causing mischief while we’re still trying to come round.

The other morning, Harry woke up about six and a sleepy Melissa carried him into our bed. I was still dozing – well, pretending to be asleep might be more accurate – but Harry was having none of it.

He grabbed my chin, put his face millimetres from mine and said book, meaning that he wanted me to read with him. Of course, I did the decent thing and turned over, mumbling something about his mum wanting to read. Melissa, by now pretending to have gone back to sleep, was also turned away from Harry which didn’t please him one bit.

After a few minutes of trying to get a response, though, Harry gave up with Melissa and clambered on to my head. “Dad-da, book,” was all I could hear. Eventually I gave in and leaned over to turn the light on, whereupon Harry dived out of bed and started fiddling with the alarm clock.

Within seconds we were listening to heavy metal – Harry, it seems, has a knack of tuning in to the loudest radio stations. Melissa, incidentally, tried to sleep through all of this. Harry responded by grabbing her feet to pull her out of bed.

I’d like to say these events are unusual; they’re not. I once had an alarm clock that had a ‘gentle wake’ setting – the idea was a buzzer that started off quietly and got progressively louder so it didn’t startle you. Unfortunately, the days of a ‘gentle wake’ are long gone now.

Harry the chatterbox

2011-02-23T11:11:00.000Z

HARRY is turning into a right little chatterbox. This is a big change because he was a pretty slow starter when it came to talking.

He did have a couple of essential words – apart from mummy and daddy – such as juice, dinner and no, but generally he preferred to grunt and point to get his message across.

However, a couple of months before Christmas, his vocabulary suddenly started to expand at a quite remarkable rate.

Having done a bit of research (well, using Google to look up ‘babies talking’), it seems that toddlers can learn up to 10 words a day by the time they’re two, and I can quite believe it.

Every day he’s using new words and new sounds, while his pronunciation is improving rapidly as well. He’s also starting to string one or two words together, which I find very exciting. It also makes car journeys much more interesting – when I pick him up from my mum and dad’s, he talks all the way home about what he’s been doing.

Although he still gets frustrated when I don’t understand him, having a conversation with Harry is definitely one of those ‘wow’ moments that you experience as a first time parent.

Of course, there are one or two downsides to Harry’s ever expanding vocabulary. While we were at the checkout in the supermarket last weekend, Harry kept saying ‘beer’ to the cashier, which was a little bit embarrassing.

The following day we took him to a restaurant which had a large mirror behind our table. When Harry spotted the mirror, he stood up, turned to face it, shouted ‘mirror’ at the top of his voice, and then kissed his reflection. He did make up for it though, saying ‘please’ when the waiter asked if he wanted ice cream. I was a very proud dad.

Splash mats

2011-02-07T09:32:00.001Z

When Harry was about eight or nine months old, a colleague asked me if we’d invested in a splash mat to sit underneath Harry’s high chair. At the time, there didn’t seem much point but now I can see the logic behind such an investment.

Harry has a very good appetite and is now quite happy to feed himself. However, as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, he will no longer sit in his high chair, preferring instead to sit at the kitchen table.

On the one hand, this is real progress and makes meal times much more relaxed for Melissa and myself. On the other, it also creates a fair bit of mess. Harry’s coordination is generally very good but – on occasion – he loses concentration while his fork or spoon is in transition from his plate to his mouth.

This can make things really messy – and it sometimes takes a fair amount of restraint on my part not to intervene. As you can imagine, some foods are better than others; soup is a particular problem, and about half of it normally ends up down Harry or on the floor.

The other frustrating habit Harry has developed at mealtimes is pushing his plate away when he’s finished eating. Most of the time, this is not a problem; occasionally, though, he pushes it a bit hard and it ends up on the floor.

We’re then left frantically trying to clean up the mess before it stains the walls, floor and so on. A splash mat might well be the way forward.

I shouldn’t complain though. Harry has a fantastic appetite and he certainly isn’t fussy when it comes to food, although he does have his favourites. At the moment, honey has replaced ham as his food of choice, although I’m pleased to say that from time to time he now asks for ‘mar mar’ (Marmite) on his toast. That’s my boy.

Under siege

2011-01-31T11:26:00.003Z

OUR house is under siege - courtesy of Harry and his toys. A few years ago a friend of mine told me he had banned his children and their toys from their front room because, he said, it was being taken over by toys. At the time, I remember thinking it seemed a bit harsh; now I can understand his sentiment.

A combination of Christmas and Harry's birthday have left us surrounded by toys. Our front room is an ever-changing obstacle course, with crayons, trains and trucks all waiting to trip you up at the slightest lapse in concentration.
I've lost count of the number of times I've stepped on something by accident, leaving me hopping around the room in agony, much to Harry's obvious delight. And if I'm not falling over the toys, I'm having to be build or fix them.

Harry's favourite at the moment is his wooden train. Now I must admit, I love the train set and we've bought him a couple of expansion sets to make it a bit more interesting - for Harry and for me. The upside is that we are now able to build some pretty elaborate railways, complete with viaducts and crossings; the downside is that it takes up most of our sitting room which, consequently, generally looks a bit like a building site.I can live with the railway, though.

What I find much more difficult to deal with is Harry's constant desire to tip everything out. I blame Melissa for this. She has, from a very early age, encouraged Harry to tip up his toy box and get all of his toys out to play with.

It wasn't so bad when we were only dealing with a handful of them but now he has so many, I can’t resist trying to tidy up after him. This is a game in itself because, if Harry catches you, he immediately empties everything out again and you're back to square one.Speaking of games, Harry is very keen on hide and seek. When he wants to play, he tells you to count, then scurries off before shouting ready, or 'eddie', at the top of his voice and giggling hysterically as you look for him.

To start with, Harry struggled with the concept of hiding but he's definitely getting better. On Wednesday, I lost him for a full five minutes when we were playing upstairs. I was getting a bit worried until I heard a giggle coming from the wardrobe in the spare room.

Harry turns two...

2011-01-24T12:42:00.001Z

Harry was two this week and I can hardly believe it’s been that long since I was pacing around The Maelor anxiously awaiting the arrival of our first child.

Although we’d been to the antenatal classes, nothing could have prepared us for the changes that were about to happen in our life.

And while the panic of those first few days has subsided – remembering to sterilise everything and trying to work out how to fasten a nappy successfully – our life has changed beyond recognition.

On Tuesday Melissa, with me helping out, spent the evening baking a train-shaped birthday cake. Then we had to decorate it – another first for me.

It was worth the effort though. Watching Harry blow out the candles before jumping up and down and applauding was magical, as was his cheeky grin after he’d managed to grab a chocolate wheel off the cake before we’d had chance to put it out of reach.

In fact, the whole of his birthday saw Harry in a state of high excitement. From the moment he opened his first present until the departure of the last visitor at about 6pm he hardly stopped – with the exception of an hour-long nap in the morning.

We took him to an indoor play area in the afternoon where he played happily for a couple of hours, climbing, jumping, and flying down the slide as fast as he could.

As if to emphasise just how grown up he is now, he didn’t need any help climbing the play equipment, although he did want one of us to wait for him at the bottom of the slide.

Watching him interact with the other children reinforced the impression that he’s now a little boy rather than a toddler. There was one particularly cute moment when he took a little girl’s hand and tried to persuade her to race him down the slide. She refused, which prompted a brief frown from Harry, before he hurled himself down the slide again, squealing at the top of his voice.

Harry and the quest for chaos

2011-01-17T13:59:00.002Z

Life with Harry is never dull. If I’m not chasing him around the house, he’s chasing me. It’s great but there are plenty of challenges along the way.

Last week Melissa called me at work to ask what time I would be home. She sounded stressed. Very stressed.

It’s Harry, she said, he’s being a monkey. It later transpired that Harry had given Melissa a taste of the terrible twos a few weeks early. After emptying her make up draw on to the bedroom floor, he’d gone into the bathroom and started throwing toys down the toilet.

While Melissa was trying to stop him, he’d somehow managed to get his hands in the toilet bowl, and was trying to fish out the aforementioned toys. It sounded chaotic, although I must admit I had to stifle a giggle when she told me what had happened.
Needless to say, when I arrived home an hour or so later, Melissa handed Harry over to me and – would you believe it – he was a little angel, playing happily with his train set until bed time.

It is surprising how quickly things can descend into chaos, though. I’ve been caught out a few times recently, most memorably when I was trying to get Harry’s dinner and he decided to empty the kitchen cupboards. By the time I’d mashed the potatoes, our kitchen floor was strewn with pots, pans, tins and jars. To make matters worse, every time I tried to put something away, Harry simply took it out again. Melissa, when she arrived on the scene, was not impressed.

Speaking of Harry running riot, we finally took down the travel cot in our bedroom this week. It had proved very useful in keeping Harry under control while we got ready in a morning, but once he’d mastered climbing out of the cot we were always fighting a losing battle.

So we’re now busy rearranging our bedroom to make sure all the lotions and potions are out of Harry’s reach. I’m sure, however, that he’ll soon find new, more inventive ways to make mischief – he seems to have a knack for it.

The difference between Momma and Mummy

2011-01-17T13:59:00.001Z

I can’t believe how quickly Harry is growing up. I know I’ve said this before but lately the pace of change seems to be increasing all the time. Of course the fact that he’s talking makes a big difference. Hearing him ask for ‘mummy’ rather than ‘momma’ may not sound much but to Melissa and I, it’s worlds apart.

In other ways he’s becoming more and more of a little boy, rather than a toddler. He is, for instance, quite happy to sit or lie on the floor playing with his train set quite happily for half an hour or more on his own. The only sound he makes is the choo-chooing of the trains.

Boxing Day was a bit of a watershed moment for me though. I took Harry downstairs after his bath to get him tea. We walked into the kitchen and Harry asked to sit on a seat at the table, rather than eat in his high chair.

Normally I would have insisted on the high chair but Harry had been full of cold and hadn’t been eating very well for a couple of days, so I relented. He sat at the table, spoon in hand, waiting for his tea and when I put it on the table, he told me to go away. Again, I would normally be reluctant to do so (if only for the sake of minimising the mess!) but I made another exception.So while I did the washing up, Harry sat with his back to me and cleared his plate. There was very little spillage and Harry was quiet as a mouse the whole time. I kept taking sneaky glances to make sure he was alright but I needn’t have worried.

As you might expect, Harry remembered this the next day and he duly ate his breakfast sat at the table. Since then, he’s not been in his high chair and, barring one or two slightly messy moments, it’s going remarkably smoothly.

Of course there’s plenty of time for that to change but, whatever happens, I can’t see Harry getting into his high chair ever again.

The magic of Christmas

2010-12-31T08:37:00.002Z

I’ve always loved Christmas but now Harry’s on the scene, it’s better than ever. And despite the early start this year – Harry had us downstairs opening presents at half past six – there was something magical about Christmas morning.

Although Harry is a bit too young to understand what Christmas is all about, he definitely knew that something was going on.

We took him to the carol service at Chirk Methodist Church on Christmas Eve and he sat rapt while the vicar related the story of the Nativity. Harry sitting still for half an hour is quite remarkable in itself, and the occasion certainly added to the festive feeling in the Wright household.

On Christmas Day itself, Melissa dashed downstairs ahead of us and laid Harry’s presents out across the front room floor. His reaction when he walked in was brilliant. He kept shouting ‘wow’, before tearing into the wrapping paper, and shouting ‘wow’ again and again.

Then it was up to me to get the toys out of the packaging – which is easier said than done, especially with an eager toddler on your shoulder. One toy even had to be unscrewed from its packaging, which is surely taking security a bit too far.

Anyway, after half an hour or so, Harry had unwrapped all of his presents and, despite the array of new toys to play with, was only interested in one thing: unwrapping more Christmas presents.

By the time we’d visited the grandparents, Harry was exhausted. Needless to say he was fast asleep by half six in the evening, which at least gave Melissa and I the chance to catch our breath.

Of course, next year things will be different again and Harry will be even more excited. I can’t wait.

Painting

2010-12-24T08:53:00.000Z

I’m a very proud man. I’ve just been given my first painting from Harry and it is now stuck proudly to my office wall.

I’m not sure what my colleagues make of my greeny-black splodge, and I’ll admit it is, how can I put this, a little bit abstract, but it means the world to me. It is sitting next to the half a dozen carefully selected pictures of Harry that – and I apologise in advance for sounding a bit soppy – bring a smile to my face whenever I’m at my desk.

Harry does love getting mucky and painting fits the bill perfectly. I tried it the other evening and after 15 minutes, Harry had paint all over his hands, face, arms and hair. The kitchen floor was also liberally splattered with paint.

Mind you, that was fairly tame compared to Melissa’s Christmas card making experiment. I only saw the aftermath, but there was glitter everywhere and, as I’ve now discovered, it’s incredibly difficult to get rid of.

Having said that, the cards looked good in the end and Harry’s obviously very proud of his handiwork. Whenever he spots one of the cards he helped make, he shouts ‘Harry’ and points excitedly at his chest.

Speaking of Christmas, Harry is still a little bit too young to understand what it’s all about but he does now recognise Santa. He also does impressions of him, saying ‘ho ho ho’ whenever he spots a Father Christmas.

But when he met Father Christmas on Llangollen Railway’s Santa Special, Harry suddenly went very shy. And when he was asked what he’d like for Christmas, Harry replied “ham”. It’s an unusual request, but I think Santa might be able to manage that one.

Sleeping

2010-12-24T08:52:00.001Z

HARRY’S sleeping is a funny thing. When he first goes to bed at night, I swear you could put a brass band outside his room and he wouldn’t wake up.

But after about four in the morning, he’s awake at the slightest sound – including the creak of floorboards.
As you can imagine, this makes visiting the toilet in the night something of a challenge.
Sleeping in the day is another challenge altogether. Take last Sunday.

We decided to pop to Eagles Meadow in Wrexham to get the last of our Christmas shopping done and, much to our relief, Harry dropped off in his pushchair shortly after we arrived.

With Harry still fast asleep when we’d finished the shopping, we thought it best not to disturb him by putting him back in the car and decided to have some lunch instead.

The restaurant looked fairly quiet, so we wheeled Harry inside hoping to eat our lunch before he woke up.
Unfortunately, our table was right next to what has to be one of the noisiest coffee machines in the world. Whenever somebody ordered a hot drink, there was a bang, followed by a loud tapping and the sound of steam being released.

Every time this happened, Melissa or I would check Harry nervously, expecting him to wake up.
We had managed to eat our starter before it was all too much for him and he woke up, slightly dazed.

Of course, we then had to negotiate our main meals while keeping Harry entertained.
Fortunately – and perhaps surprisingly – we discovered that he quite liked the seafood sauce on my pasta; dipping pieces of bread in it kept him quiet just about long enough for us to finish our food.

It didn’t make for a particularly enjoyable meal, however, as Harry insisted on standing on the seat and shouting ‘ba-ba’ at baby on the table next to us.

Put it this way, I was left wondering whether it would have been easier to risk waking him by putting him in the car after all.

Let it snow...

2010-12-03T13:54:00.000Z

Harry’s got a new favourite word: snow. With the wintry weather we’ve been enjoying (if that’s the right word), Harry’s had plenty of opportunity to see snow first hand and he loves it.

When it started snowing last Friday, Melissa said that Harry was absolutely fascinated, sitting in the window watching it until it was dark. He was still excited when I arrived home from work, running to greet me shouting ‘snow’ as I walked through the door.

But while watching the snow is one thing, letting Harry go outside to play in it is an altogether more complicated process, requiring wrapping him up in so many layers that he can hardly walk. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to mind; the only problem is that if he falls over, he can’t get himself upright again.

Of course I was all for taking him sledging but, as he’s had a bit of a cough lately, commonsense (or Melissa, more precisely) prevailed, so it looks like I’ll have to wait a bit longer.

Anyway, the cold weather has got Melissa feeling festive and Sunday saw us putting up the Christmas decorations. Harry was keen to help, but struggled to spot the difference between baubles and a football; Melissa wasn’t impressed as he kicked them around the living room. Apparently that was my fault.

Apart from the baubles, though, Harry was surprisingly gentle with the decorations. I say surprisingly because I was very concerned about mixing Harry with decorations – it’s not exactly a match made in heaven.

Harry is still – thankfully – a bit too young to understand what Christmas is all about so although he was certainly excited about the decorations, sleepless nights until December 25 shouldn’t be a problem.

Something tells me things will be very different this time next year, though.

Peppa Pig at 2am

2010-11-26T11:14:00.001Z

Sickness, Peppa Pig, Calpol and a screaming toddler. That was the story of our Sunday night this week.

Melissa had put Harry to bed as I’d been at work so when I arrived home, I was expecting a relaxing evening. Melissa had even opened a bottle of wine but, alas, it wasn’t to be.

Harry was unusually restless and woke up several times crying. He was so upset in the end, that I went to his room and picked him up to comfort him. Ten seconds later, Harry had been sick all over my dressing gown.

I shouted Melissa who rushed upstairs to help. And Harry was immediately sick all over her too.

Thankfully, that was the end of the throwing up, but Harry didn’t drop off again until half eleven.

Unfortunately, he only slept for an hour before waking up crying. This time, there was no way he was going back to sleep. We soon discovered that the only way to stop him crying was to let him watch Peppa Pig.

There is something a bit bizarre about watching children’s television programmes at half past one in the morning, but we were so grateful that he’d calmed down we didn’t mind.

While he was calm, we took the opportunity to get some Calpol down him. Of course, Harry didn’t want to swallow any but, with Melissa holding him down, I managed to get some in his mouth.

The effect was dramatic – I swear that stuff is magic. Within half an hour, Harry was sleepy enough to get him back into bed – our bed this time. A few minutes later, both he and Melissa were flat out, leaving me wide awake unable to shake the Peppa Pig theme tune.

Being a parent is, as I’ve said time and time again, a wonderful experience; but it definitely has its challenging moments.

Swimming again...

2010-11-11T12:28:00.000Z

I took Harry swimming on Sunday – the first time I’ve been for a couple of weeks – and was amazed at how much progress he’s made since starting lessons in September.

It sounds young – 21 months – to be having lessons, and I admit I was a bit sceptical at first. But having seen Harry on Sunday, I’ve no doubt that they’re extremely beneficial.

I took Harry to one of the lessons at Waterworld, Wrexham, a month or so ago, and it was an eye-opening experience. The half-hour sessions involve a teacher standing at the edge of the pool issuing instructions to the children and parents or guardians in the pool. There are plenty of activities, including jumping in, rolling in, dancing, singing, splashing, kicking and so on.

Now although the teacher was very friendly, she was also quite strict (as I’m sure she has to be) and I found myself on the end of a couple of sharp reprimands for not letting Harry’s head go under the water. As the teacher later explained to another cautious parent, if you show any fear, it’s only natural for the child to be scared too.

As I say, that was a few weeks ago and when I took Harry to the pool on Sunday, I was surprised at the change. He jumps in on his own, doesn’t mind his head going under water and – best of all – when he kicks hard enough, he is able to move around the pool on his own. It’s great to see him enjoying himself so much in the water.

In fact, the only downside with swimming is getting changed afterwards; keeping an adventurous toddler in the cubicle can be surprisingly tricky. However, Melissa has now developed a foolproof system to keep Harry still while she dries and dresses him – food, or crisps to be precise. After all that activity though, it’s no wonder he’s hungry – I know I am.

Hands off my CDs

2010-11-11T12:27:00.000Z

I’ve just learned another valuable lesson: don’t leave Harry alone with anything you want to keep safe.

Now I know what you’re going to say: surely that stands to reason. You’d be right of course, but earlier this week I got complacent and paid the price.

The thing is, Harry’s determination to chew, tear and generally destroy everything has waned in recent weeks.

So when I left him watching Chuggington on my computer, I didn’t give a second thought to the fact that I’d left a CD within grabbing distance.

When I returned to check on him a minute or two later, the CD was back on the desk in front of the computer – in almost exactly the same place it had been originally. The only difference was the cardboard sleeve was now in several pieces.

Harry was smiling angelically at me and when I told him off, he just chuckled. It didn’t help that Melissa was stood behind me, also laughing. So while I was trying to explain to him why tearing daddy’s CD cases was not wrong, Melissa simply said: “You shouldn’t have left it there in the first place.”

She was right of course but that didn’t help. Anyway, Harry had obviously worked out I wasn’t best pleased, however, because he came up to me and cuddled my leg, saying ‘awww’.

Rather than saying sorry, though, I think this might have had more to do with trying to shut me up – Harry had obviously had enough of me talking about CD sleeves.

When I returned home later the same day I spotted our house phone in pieces, balanced on a radiator. When I asked Melissa what had happened, she sheepishly admitted Harry had managed to grab the phone and throw it in the bath. Obviously I wasn’t the only one being complacent that day.

Thomas and the sausage roll

2010-11-01T12:05:00.000Z

Harry was 21 months old last week. On the one hand, it’s hard to believe it’s that long since I was pacing up and down the corridors of the Maelor waiting for Harry to arrive.

On the other hand, it’s difficult to remember what life was like without Harry. And one thing’s for sure, they have been the best 21 months of my life.

As I’ve said before, being a parent certainly encourages you to make the most of your weekends. The fine weather last Sunday saw us head to Llangollen to ride on Thomas the Tank Engine.

It was great watching Harry’s expression change when he recognised Thomas – it was the trigger for an afternoon of excitement as far as he was concerned.

When we first got on the train, Harry was so excited he wouldn’t sit still, climbing up to see out of the carriage one minute, before jumping down to explore the next, and all the while shouting Thomas or ‘choo choo’ at the top of his voice.

In fact, the only time he did sit still was when he was demolishing a sausage roll – and then only because I was practically holding him down in a vain attempt to limit the mess.

Put it this way, I now understand why my dad used to complain about us eating sausage rolls in the car when we were little.

When we arrived at Carrog, trying to keep hold of Harry was the biggest challenge as he charged up and down the platform waving his new Thomas flag. Thankfully, Melissa had remembered to put the reins in – and I was left in no doubt that they are an essential tool in the battle to hang on to adventurous toddlers.

But it was great fun – and I’m sure if Harry gets his way, we’ll be booking ourselves on to the Santa Special in December.

Nuisance phone calls

2010-10-25T11:34:00.001+01:00

Harry has, from a very early age, had a thing about telephones. He loves playing with mobiles and, if he gets the chance, the house phone.

At my mum’s, Harry’s even been known to call people using the redial button (which flashes green). On one occasion, my sister thought she was the victim of a nuisance phone call; it turned out it was just Harry heavy breathing on the other end of the line.

Now he’s started to talk more, he’s even more determined to get hold of the phone.

Last week, Melissa called me while I was at work and Harry managed to wrestle the phone off her. Harry and I then had a conversation of sorts, with Harry chatting away on the other end of the line. I’m not sure what he was trying to tell me but he was very excited.

It struck me again how quickly Harry is growing up – there I was sat in work talking to my son on the phone. It was another one of those ‘pinch yourself’ moments.

What’s even more entertaining, though, is watching Harry talking to somebody else on the phone. Harry’s obviously been studying me using the phone because, like me, he doesn’t stand still for a minute, preferring instead to walk around the room chatting away and nodding his head intently like an old man.

The problem comes when you try and take the phone off him; he just doesn’t want to let it go. Sometimes, for a quiet life, I let him carry on talking – goodness knows what Melissa will say when the bill arrives.

Full time dad

2010-10-18T09:36:00.000+01:00

I’m currently recovering after spending four full days looking after Harry on my own.

Melissa decided to get away for a couple of days with her mum and sister, leaving me in charge. Now I’ve done the odd day here and there, but never for that length of time so I was a little bit nervous.

I was also slightly concerned about Harry’s reaction. Although he’s not particularly clingy, I did wonder what effect his mum being away for four nights would have on him.

Thankfully, I needn’t have worried. Harry did say “Mummy, gone” a few times while shrugging and raising his hands, but that was about it.

My tactics were simple: tire him out as thoroughly as possible during the day so that he would sleep well at night. This seemed to work pretty effectively – although the fine weather helped – and I even found time to do a bit of housework just to prove to Melissa that I haven’t forgotten how to use the washing machine and iron.
I did get quite a bit of help along the way from my mum and nan, who were on hand to provide tea, cake, support and so on when I wanted some respite.

There were also a couple of minor disasters along the way. On the first evening, while I was wrestling with a zip that had got stuck on one of his coats, Harry managed to find a way through the gate at the bottom of the stairs and was half way up before I managed to grab him.

One another occasion, he managed to get hold of some of Melissa’s make-up and was in the process of colouring our bedroom carpet before I stopped him.

All in all, though, it went very smoothly even if it was tiring. On Sunday afternoon I took Harry to Ty Mawr for a walk. Half way round, Harry decided he wanted to go on my shoulders. It was a warm day and quite hard work. When we reached the car park, Harry wanted to go around again – which meant my shoulders took some more punishment. I’ll say this though, it was more enjoyable than going to the gym.

And the hardest part about the whole experience? Going to back to work.

2010-10-12T10:01:00.001+01:00

Now Harry’s a bit older, playing with him is a lot more interesting. At the moment, one of his favourite activities is playing with large building blocks – a bit like giant Lego.

In recent weeks, Harry has learned how to put the blocks together and is now creating fairly complicated – and often quite tall – structures.

This isn’t without its hazards, though. I’ve lost count of the number of times Harry has built a tower only to push it over in my direction. He obviously thinks watching me scramble out of the way of falling blocks is entertaining. As I’ve said before, being a dad does nothing for your dignity.

Anyway, there was one particularly exciting moment last week. One evening while playing with Harry, I built an aeroplane (a very basic one, I should add) out of the blocks.

Harry thought this was great and was soon running around the room with the aeroplane making a ‘brrrrr’ noise.
The following morning, Melissa and I were sat having a cup of tea after breakfast while Harry was playing on the floor with the blocks and, much to my surprise and delight, he built his own aeroplane.

I was truly amazed, not to mention very proud, and spent the rest of the day battling with that ‘I want to tell everyone about my brilliant child’ syndrome that bores everybody else silly.

Since then I’ve been busy trying to encourage Harry to build giant castles as well as aeroplanes but he doesn’t seem to share my enthusiasm. Instead he wants to build aeroplanes and then fly them at my head. Melissa says it serves me right.

Christening fun

2010-09-24T16:17:00.000+01:00

We took Harry to a christening last Sunday and what should have been a relatively calm experience turned into one of the most hectic half hours I’ve had in a long while.

Harry was pretty well behaved when the service got under way, largely because he was munching his way through a packet of Quavers – Melissa’s cunning plan to keep him quiet.

Unfortunately, the Quavers were soon demolished and, after spending five minutes trying to wrestle the hymn book out of my hand, Harry decided it was time to go for a wander.

Of course he had his reins on, so I was pulled along behind him. The vicar had said at the outset he didn’t mind children walking around during the service and had helpfully arranged an area complete with crayons, mini bouncy castle, toys and books.

That kept Harry occupied for all of ten minutes before he became destructive and started pulling all the books off the shelves.

While I was frantically trying to tidy up behind him, Harry seized the opportunity to escape and explore the church properly.

I’m not sure what the congregation made of me sprinting after Harry during communion – but I didn’t have any choice.

After managing to catch up with him, I finally found something that kept him quiet – the organ and organist.

So for the final ten minutes of the service, I had to stand next to the organ while Harry pointed and shouted with excitement every time a note was played.

Melissa found it all very funny – and I admit I was a bit flustered by the time the service finished. She doesn’t know it yet, but Melissa’s definitely on duty the next time we go to a christening.

Haircuts and swimming lessons

2010-09-20T17:07:00.000+01:00

Last week was a momentous week for Harry (even if he doesn’t know it) – he had his first haircut and his first swimming lesson.

The haircut was, to be honest, long overdue. Although Harry doesn’t have a thick head of hair (he gets that off me), he’s been getting increasingly ‘tufty’ in recent weeks. Some days, his hair would stand on end all day, giving him the impression of being permanently terrified.

Melissa had cut it herself a couple of times to get the worst of it under control but things were nevertheless starting to get a bit out of hand.

Thankfully, that’s now a thing of the past.

Unfortunately I was in work so I couldn’t take him to the hairdressers but it all seemed to go surprisingly smoothly.

And having his hair cut has suddenly made Harry look a lot more grown up, which is a somehow a little bit sad – he’s no longer a baby, but a little boy.

Anyway, the way his hair’s growing he’ll need another haircut in a couple of weeks’ time so I’ll hopefully get the chance to take him.

The other first this week was his swimming lesson at Waterworld in Wrexham. I managed to pop along to watch it in my lunch hour, and spent the whole half-hour with a big grin on my face.

Watching Harry (and Melissa of course) performing the various exercises was fascinating. Best of all, though, Harry was obviously enjoying himself even if he was a bit reluctant to let the little rubber duck go when the teacher asked for it to be returned.

He behaved really well throughout the lesson though and I returned to work feeling ten foot tall.

Harry might be growing up but he still makes me feel like the proudest dad around.

Hungry ducks...

2010-09-13T12:03:00.001+01:00

I’ve mentioned before that Harry has a good appetite. Although we went through an awkward stage just after Christmas when he had tonsillitis, getting him to eat a balanced diet has never really been a problem.

He’ll even eat his greens. The other day we went to a garden party and Harry, despite having already eaten lunch, wanted an egg and cress sandwich. However, before eating the sandwich he opened it up and started picking out the cress and munching away on it. Only when he’d finished all the cress did he eat the rest of the sandwich.

Harry has definitely got his mum’s sweet tooth, though. At the same garden party he demolished a chocolate brownie in seconds; milk chocolate buttons are also the most effective means of encouraging Harry to cooperate.

But I think Harry’s love of food might be going a bit too far. We took him to feed the ducks the other day but Harry spent most of the time eating the bread rather than throwing it to the ducks. Thank goodness I didn’t take stale bread.

To be fair to Harry, he did give some bread away but not until he’d eaten one and a half crusts. Honestly, sometimes his appetite amazes me.

When it comes to food, the most difficult aspect is trying to stay out of the firing line at meal times.

Harry is feeding himself most of the time now but it can get a little messy when he decides to whirl the spoon around his head. Believe me, it’s no good getting changed into smart clothes before feeding Harry – nine times out of ten you end up with debris all over you. As for the kitchen floor, it requires constant cleaning – I’m just grateful we’ve got tiles rather than carpet.

Talking time

2010-09-13T12:01:00.000+01:00

Harry is starting to understand a lot more about speech and is now using words and sounds to communicate with us.

For instance, when he wakes up in a morning, he will ask for his juice; when he wants to watch his favourite television programme, Noddy, he will tell you.

Harry’s also good at following instructions (when he wants to, that is). If you ask him to pass you something, he will go and fetch it for you. Or if you ask him what sound a train makes, he makes a ‘toot toot’ noise.

According to my very limited research, the next six months will see his talking increase rapidly. One article I read said that between 18 months and two years, toddlers can learn up to 50 words a day, which means I’m going to have to start watching what I say.

As I’ve said before, Harry’s full of energy and he’s not afraid to explore his surroundings. The downside of all this activity, however, is that he does tend to get into a few bumps and scrapes – literally.

The other day, he tried to pick up a rather large picture frame that I’d carelessly left on our bedroom floor. Before I could grab him, he’d managed to scratch his eye, drawing blood and prompting an understandable crying fit.

But all this extra activity is having one desirable side-effect – he’s absolutely shattered by the end of the day.

Last week we broke a new record – Harry slept from quarter to seven at night until ten past eight the following morning. Even then, we had to wake him up because Melissa had to go to work.

And although sleeping until eight is still quite unusual, he’s certainly better than ever at night now. The knock-on effect is that Melissa and I are also sleeping much better – it’s remarkable how much sharper you feel having that extra hour and a half in bed.

I just hope I haven’t tempted fate.

It's a tough job

2010-08-27T11:25:00.000+01:00

I’ve just had my first official ‘bad day’ with Harry. Nothing terrible happened but, for the first time, I’ve experienced the sort of day that leaves Melissa looking shell-shocked when I get home from work.

Up to now, whenever I’ve looked after Harry he’s behaved like a little angel – sleeping when he’s supposed to, eating when he’s supposed to, and generally allowing me to look after him while getting on with one or two jobs around the house.

Last Saturday, however, Harry gave me some first-hand experience of what makes him such a handful at times. It started well enough. He woke about half six and ate his breakfast as usual.

We then played for an hour and, up to the point Melissa left at about eight o’clock, it was a case of so far, so good. Then the fun started.

I was expecting Harry to settle down for a sleep about half nine and put Noddy on television to encourage him to sit down quietly. My plan was to let him have a sleep, then take him to visit my grandad and my nan. No chance.

To begin with my strategy looked promising but, by ten o’clock, he was still wide awake. An hour and a half later, after a manic morning of chasing round the house, I decided to give him lunch. This was, to be blunt, a disaster and there were soon peas, mashed potato and fish fingers flying around the kitchen. By the time I’d managed to get him to eat something, Harry was practically asleep in his high chair.

Thankfully, he did go down in his cot for a couple of hours, but I was so shattered by this point I abandoned all thoughts of housework and had some lunch instead. I even considered having a quick nap myself; I felt like I needed it.

Eventually we did manage to go visiting and Harry settled down for the rest of the day. However, I now understand that all plans are subject to Harry’s whims.

Of course, he was fast asleep by the time Melissa got home about half seven. Something tells me she was rather pleased I’d had a tough day.

In training...

2010-08-20T16:15:00.001+01:00

One of the great things about having children is that they stop you being lazy. On Sunday, I was having a cup of tea after breakfast and looking forward to a relaxing day at home when Melissa suddenly said ‘Why don’t we go to the beach?’

Twenty minutes later, we were all loaded up and heading to Fairbourne, near Barmouth. By 10am, we were soaking up glorious sunshine on a practically deserted beach.

Harry quickly assumed the role of foreman, ordering Melissa and me to build sandcastles. Any slacking was punished with a shout from Harry and a determined prod.

In between all the sandcastle building, it struck me again just how impressive Fairbourne beach is, with its stunning backdrop and endless sand. I’m always puzzled why this part of the world is not packed when the weather’s good. Still, being so quiet suited us and Harry had plenty of freedom to run around the sand, and splash through the rock pools.

After an hour or so of this, Harry plucked up enough courage to head towards the sea. Although a little nervous at first, he was soon wading into the water – shorts and all. Seconds later, he was sat down splashing away in the waves, absolutely wet through.

He didn’t want to get out but, fortunately, the sound of one of the steam trains on Fairboune’s narrow gauge railway made the job a lot easier.

I’ve mentioned in this column before that Harry is turning out to be quite a fan of Thomas the Tank Engine, so you can imagine his excitement when confronted by a real steam engine.

Of course, we had to have a go and Harry spent the journey hanging out the side of the carriage shouting ‘toot toot’ at the top of his voice, with me hanging on to him by his reins. Needless to say, he had a soot-covered face by the end of the journey.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable day – and to think I’d planned to sit around at home instead.

2010-08-13T15:20:00.001+01:00

When I went to tuck Harry in the other day, it suddenly struck me how much he has changed in the last few months. There he was, stretched out, filling his cot, looking like a little boy, not the baby of eight or nine months ago.

Because he was fast asleep, I was able to stand and study him and I found myself – not for the first time – feeling very humble about how nature works.

But while I sometimes get misty-eyed about things, Harry has no such concerns. He’s a bundle of energy from the moment he wakes up to the moment he goes to bed – minus his couple of increasingly brief naps during the day.

However, I have noticed that his concentration span is starting to increase, and he’s playing with his toys properly now. For example, a few months ago his little wooden Thomas the Tank Engine train set was used primarily as a weapon; now he will lie down next to the track and gently push the trains around it. Although this doesn’t last long, it is fascinating to watch how he is changing.

Of course, he still likes playing with things he shouldn’t, and his latest obsession is my desktop computer. He likes to sit in the chair, playing with the mouse and tapping away at the keyboard. It’s a comical sight, although it has resulted in the computer becoming increasingly temperamental in recent weeks.

Then there’s the vacuum cleaner. Harry still gets worryingly excited whenever he spots it, shouting ‘Hoover’ as loudly as possible, clapping his hands and hopping from one foot to the other.

Sometimes he will follow me around the house with his own toy vacuum cleaner; at other times, he grabs a duster and the polish does his best to help with the cleaning. I just hope he remembers all this in five years time when we want him to tidy his room.

2010-08-13T15:20:00.000+01:00

Football and dancing

2010-08-09T10:36:00.000+01:00

I’m always very proud when people say Harry looks like me. I’m not sure why exactly, but whenever anybody comments on the resemblance (even if it is Harry’s hairline) I find myself smiling away as if somebody has just paid me a compliment.

However, I’m realistic enough to know that Harry being a carbon copy of me wouldn’t be a good thing, particularly when it comes to dancing. Thankfully, Harry seems to have inherited his mum’s sense of rhythm.

Whenever he hears music, Harry immediately starts bobbing up and down, hopping from one leg to the other, spinning around and waving his arms wildly. He also likes to grab people to dance with him and gets particularly excited when he hears the theme tunes to his favourite television programmes, Chuggington and Thomas and Friends.

It also turns out he’s a bit of a fan of sixties music. When he goes to my mum’s for the day, he makes a beeline for the hi-fi. Bend it, by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Titch seems to be his favourite. Even my nan gets up to dance with him at the grand old age of 94. It’s a remarkable sight.

But Harry’s dancing is not without its problems. Melissa and I took him to a charity tea dance last weekend and he was so keen to join in, he kept running in between couples who were taking the dancing very seriously. They didn’t really see the funny side, unlike Harry who had the time of his life tearing around the dancefloor while I ran round after him trying in vain to keep him out of trouble.

Dancing apart, he’s also developing some pretty impressive football skills. I’ve no idea where he gets these from (it’s certainly not from me – I didn’t even make the primary school team), but he loves running around with a ball at his feet before kicking it as hard as he can at somebody or something. It’s impressive stuff from an 18-month-old.

My aim now is to teach him the basics of cricket. It could be dangerous.

Hold on to your hair

2010-08-03T10:17:00.001+01:00

When Harry arrived on the scene 18 months ago, I joked with friends that I would be grey with worry within two years. I was wrong. I will be bald and grey.

My hair is changing colour rapidly. Until Harry was born, I had one or two grey hairs; now I have dozens. At this rate, I will be completely grey by the time I reach 35.

And baldness might also be an issue, but not just because of the worry. Harry has decided he likes being carried around on my shoulders when we go for a walk.

Things are fine until he starts grabbing my hair. When we walked around Alyn Waters the other day, a good few handfuls of my hair were removed before Harry got bored of the ‘make daddy look silly game’.

Seriously, though, this being a dad thing is hard work. Melissa and I took Harry on the playgroup trip to a theme park called Wonderland in Telford last week and I spent the whole day chasing him around.

In fact, I was so worn out when we got on the bus to go home, I joined Harry in having a quick nap, much to Melissa’s amusement.

The trip was great fun, however, and there was one particularly memorable moment when Harry went on a ride called the ‘White Rabbit’ by himself.

It wasn’t a very fast ride – basically a car going around a flat track. Adults weren’t allowed on, so I strapped Harry in and off he went, making a ‘brrrmmm’ sound while hanging on to the steering wheel.

It sounds daft now, but seeing Harry sat there on his own, looking so proud, was incredibly emotional.
Initially, Melissa wasn’t keen on the idea of letting Harry go by himself but she soon got over it when she saw how much he enjoyed the ride – and how well behaved he was. In fact he enjoyed it so much, it took us 15 minutes to prise him off.

The whole episode brought home to me just how quickly Harry’s growing up and it made me even more determined to enjoy every minute of being with him – even if it does have an undesirable effect on my hairline.

Dance the night away

2010-07-26T10:07:00.001+01:00

Harry was 18 months old on Monday – and I’ve no idea where the time has gone.

He is growing up so fast, it’s hard to keep up with his development. I’ve got pictures of Harry taken just before Christmas on my office wall and he looks so young and small, nothing like the stocky bundle of energy that greets me every evening when I arrive home from work.

He’s also a real little character, playing up to any attention and, frankly, showing off. It was certainly the case last Saturday when Melissa’s nan had a party to celebrate her birthday at Stansty House in Wrexham.

The country music duo Jeff Cliffson Duo performed for the occasion and Harry loved it, spending most of the performance bobbing up and down right in front of Jeff and John, much to the amusement of the residents.

Occasionally, Harry would take a break from the dancing to drag one or two of us up to bob up and down with him, including Melissa’s nan of course. It was all good fun and Jeff and John were on fine form – even I got out of my seat a couple of times.

Anyway, I’m sure Harry will appreciate me reminding him of this when he’s, oh I don’t know, about 15 years old.

He was also fascinated by John and Jeff’s guitars, and you could tell he was desperate to have a go. I just hope he takes after his mum when it comes to musical talent; heaven help him if he takes after me.

Swimming is definitely more my scene and now Harry’s a bit older, I’ve got a good excuse to act like a big kid again. We went to Waterworld in Wrexham on Sunday and I spent most of the time going down the slide with Harry on my lap.

The slide seemed very fast – certainly faster than when I was little. Harry screamed – I think it was with delight, but I can’t be sure. The worst part, though, was trying to stand up when we reached the bottom of the slide; balancing Harry while pushing myself upright and hanging on to a rubber ring was not easy. But as I’m quickly finding out, it’s hard to look dignified when you’ve got a little one in tow.

Shopping trial

2010-07-16T12:10:00.001+01:00

Harry can turn the simplest of tasks into a real trial. This was illustrated very clearly last Friday when I arrived home from work and had to pop to the shops to buy a few bits and pieces for tea. I decided to take Harry with me in his push-along trike.

The shop is only a few hundred yards from our front door, so this shouldn’t have presented any problems. My only slight worry was that Harry insisted on taking his bubble gun with him. Still, I thought, what damage can a few bubbles do?

Ten minutes later, I was stood in the middle of the shop with Harry shouting at the top of his voice in between dousing unsuspecting shoppers with bubbles. I was trying to steer Harry’s trike with one hand while carrying an overflowing shopping basket in the other and, presumably, looking increasingly fraught.

To be fair, I did get one or two sympathetic looks from shoppers; others were slightly less gracious in their attitude.

Anyway, I eventually managed to get to the counter and pay, much to the amusement of the checkout staff.

My relief was shortlived, though; two minutes later, I was heading back to the shop having realised I’d forgotten the most important items – Melissa’s chocolate and magazine.

In an effort to keep things under control second time around, I resorted to good old-fashioned bribery with Harry; he got a pack of chocolate buttons to keep him quiet – a very effective method of noise control, I’ve discovered.

Melissa, of course, also found the whole episode hilarious. In fact, she only stopped laughing long enough to tell me she has to manage this type of expedition every day. It makes going to work sound like the easy option.

He's a little charmer

2010-07-16T12:09:00.000+01:00

I’m constantly surprised by how clever babies are – and Harry is no exception. He is a right little charmer and, even if he’s been making mischief for hours on end, when he’s introduced to strangers he invariably starts behaving like a little angel.

When we were on holiday a couple of weeks ago, Harry had people cooing over him everywhere we went. In cafes, he would smile at people before pretending to be shy and burying his head in mine or Melissa’s shoulder. Of course, this would attract plenty of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and Harry would soon be waving, shouting and generally entertaining everybody around us.

On the surface, this might seem perfectly innocent behaviour from a 17-month-old but there’s more to it than you think. On one occasion, a friendly lady sitting next to us in a café gave Harry her biscuit, which pleased him no end.

And when we visited Melissa’s nan at Stansty House care home in Wrexham last week he soon had both staff and residents smiling at his antics. His reward was sandwiches and a dessert courtesy of the very friendly staff. Harry, of course, was over the moon.

Whatever his motivation, though, I certainly prefer it when he behaves himself, particularly if we’re eating out. There was an uncomfortable moment in a restaurant we visited recently when Harry decided to start throwing his food around.

At home, this is a common occurrence at the moment as Harry is learning how to feed himself using a spoon and food sometimes goes in astray in the journey from plate to mouth. In the restaurant, however, an elderly couple found themselves in the firing line and they weren’t particularly impressed.

Thankfully, though, such incidents are pretty rare. It certainly makes you think twice about eating out though.

Two weeks with Harry...

2010-07-05T09:25:00.001+01:00

I’ve just spent two full weeks with Harry – my longest uninterrupted period with him since he arrived home from hospital more than 17 months ago.

Spending time with Harry is always special, but having 14 days with him was a particular treat.

We spent the first week by the sea in Whitby, Yorkshire. Fortunately, the weather was fine and we were able to get the beach twice a day, every day, which delighted Harry.

He thoroughly enjoyed playing with his bucket and spade on the beach – so much so that I found myself having to pretend to play in the sand on our apartment floor shortly after six every morning.

Goodness knows what our unfortunate neighbours made of it all, but it kept Harry entertained and that’s all that matters.

Mind you, I think I enjoyed the beach just as much as Harry – and I’ve now got the perfect excuse to behave like a big kid, so I had great fun competing with Melissa to build the biggest and best sandcastle.

One thing that did shock me, though, was the sand. It gets everywhere and, thanks to Harry, our apartment was covered in it. By the end of the week, I’d swear there was more sand in our bed than on the beach.

Sand aside, it was a fantastic break. My favourite moment came when we were playing on the beach one day and Harry grabbed my hand before taking me paddling. Watching a very well-behaved Harry eating fish and chips in a busy restaurant on our last day also made me realise just how quickly he’s growing up. I’m determined to enjoy every minute of it.

Summer's here

2010-07-05T09:23:00.000+01:00

NOW that summer is here, we've been getting out and about as much as possible with Harry. Unlike this time last year, when Harry was too little to take a great deal of notice of the world around him, he's now desperate to touch everything.It's great - often hilarious - watching him discover the world outside.

He's fascinated by soil, plants, chippings, grass – just about everything in fact. You can be walking around the garden with him when he'll suddenly stop bend over and pick up something that has caught his eye, and this is when you have to be on your toes as it can very quickly end up in his mouth as I found out at the weekend.We've got a few outdoor toys for Harry, including a sand table that is proving very popular. Melissa and I make sandcastles while Harry takes great pleasure in smashing them up.

The other day, Harry and I were outside playing in the sand when Harry decided to find out what it tasted like. Before I could stop him, he'd grabbed a handful of wet sand and was shoving it in his mouth - judging by his reaction, it wasn't a very pleasant experience.

One of the downsides of being outdoors is trying to protect Harry from the sun. Melissa is, quite rightly, very cautious about it, so he can't leave the house without being plastered with sun cream.

Unfortunately for Harry, he takes after me and isn't blessed with a thick head of hair. This means that his scalp is exposed and, even with cream, he still needs a hat. Now Harry doesn't like hats at all so when we started insisting he wear a hat, we had plenty of tears and tantrums.

However, we stood firm on the issue and every time he Harry took his hat off, we immediately took him inside. Now he got used to the idea and will keep the hat on for long periods - he'll even try and put it back on himself if it falls off, with varying degrees of success.Still, it's great to be out and about with him. I just hope we have a decent summer this year so we can make the most of it.

The early morning wake up call

2010-07-05T09:20:00.002+01:00

IT'S FAIR to say that I'm still adjusting to life as a parent. It was a real shock to the system when Harry first arrived on the scene in January last year and, even with all the advice from friends and the various textbooks, I simply wasn't prepared for the massive changes that happen when you become a parent.

Nearly seventeen months on, I'm still getting used to the idea that I'm now a dad with all the responsibility that brings with it.

It’s true that you do have to make massive changes to your lifestyle when you become a parent and your priorities are turned completely on their head. Even simple things like popping out for a pint, meeting up with friends, or going to watch the football require planning with military precision.

But I think we've coped pretty well with that side of life. What has been tougher, for me at least, is dealing with sleep - or, more precisely, a lack of it.

Looking back to the first few weeks after Harry was born, I don't know how we managed having to get up two or three times a night to feed and change him. Of course, you muddle through and things do get better.

The problem is, you forget how hard you had it then and begin to get used to sleeping through the night again. Unfortunately for us, Harry has now decided that he likes waking up early - usually between half five and half six - which means we have to get up early too.

What amazes me is how much energy he has at that time of day. There's no easing into the day gently with Harry, and I'm often woken by the shout of 'Da da' which, roughly translated, means he’s ready for breakfast.

A few months ago, the solution was simple - we brought him into our bed and he would drop off for another hour or so. Unfortunately, he's no longer interested in going back to sleep and he will happily slap, pull, poke and prod me until I get up and take him downstairs.

To be honest, this isn't so bad during the week when I've got to get up to go to work anyway, but it's tough at the weekends when you need to catch up on your sleep.

It’s also a bit disconcerting having to watch Thomas the Tank Engine at six o’clock in the morning. Still, a couple of friends with chidren have assured me it's just a phase and that Harry will soon be sleeping until eight or half past. At the moment, I’d happily settle for seven.

Harry's little surprise

2010-06-11T14:57:00.000+01:00

I must admit, I get it pretty easy. I leave the house for work at about eight every morning, returning home between six and seven in the evening as a rule.

This means that, by the time I get in, Harry has already had his tea and his bath, and is ready for bed. My role in the week is to look after him before I go to work, including feeding him breakfast, and then putting him to bed at night; Melissa deals with everything that goes on in between (except on the two days she works, in which case it's the two nans who are in charge).Now that Harry is walking, he's a real handful. Looking after him is an energetic business and it's no wonder Melissa looks worn out some days. On Saturday Melissa was out for the day, leaving me in charge of Harry. This is a rare occurrence, so I was determined to make the most of it. Harry was in a brilliant mood and we played all day; he even ate everything I put in front of him.

But one thing that I've learned over the last 16 months is that things change quickly. Having had his tea, I took Harry upstairs for his bath. He was happy, playing with his toys while I splashed him with the shower attachment. I then turned my back for a second to get his towel, ready to lift him out.

When I turned around, though, I was shocked to find that Harry had, how can I put this, had an accident (it's only the second time this has ever happened).Suddenly, looking after Harry didn't seem so easy. I whipped him out of the water, dried him quickly and put him in his cot - crying by now - while I disinfected the bath. Half an hour later, order was restored but it was stressful episode.

As Melissa pointed out later, she has to deal with these kind of episodes every day, so I got very little sympathy.It reminded me that as much as I would love to spend more time with Harry, it's not always easy. So I now have the utmost respect for full time mums and dads – it’s difficult to think of a more demanding job.

It's not always easy...

2010-06-11T14:55:00.000+01:00

By and large, this is an upbeat column, which is a reflection of how much I am enjoying being a father. However, the responsibility of being a dad can be stressful and the last few weeks have brought that home to me.

It started when Harry picked up an ear infection that just wouldn’t clear up properly. Unfortunately, this was followed closely by tonsillitis, which really knocked him for six.

We knew something was wrong because Harry went off his food – which is extremely unusual – and when he developed a temperature on the Sunday evening, we were straight on the phone to Wrexham’s out of hours service and, shortly after, on our way to the Maelor.

Now I know out-of-hours medical services are often criticised but I can only say our experience was superb. We saw an extremely helpful doctor who not only prescribed antibiotics to treat the infection, but also gave us plenty of other useful advice.

The medication worked and Harry started to get back to his normal self but he was still off his food. I know this is not uncommon with toddlers but it was a real shock for Melissa and I, who are used to Harry eating anything that’s put in front of him.

In fact, all we could get to him to eat was yoghurt. This was fine while he was ill, but I started to become increasingly anxious after this went on for several days. He seemed to go off everything – he’d put a spoonful of food in his mouth, then take it out and throw it at you. This was generally followed by a tantrum, and a complete refusal to try any more food.

Unsurprisingly, Harry began to lose weight and he certainly wasn’t his usual happy, boisterous self.

Gradually, though, he’s regained his appetite and I’m pleased to say Harry is now eating properly again – and grabbing food off our plates at every opportunity. Believe me, our house is now a much happier place again.

I suppose I’d better get used to this worrying though; according to most parents, it doesn’t go away, no matter how old your children.

The beach

2010-06-02T09:30:00.000+01:00

I’ve just enjoyed another action-packed weekend. I’m starting to get used to all this activity now – and it’s certainly helping me sleep better at night.

Saturday was hectic: a trip to Toys R Us in the morning to buy Harry a sit-on car, followed by a party at Silly Bart’s in Wrexham to celebrate Isabella’s second birthday. The party was great fun, and Harry ran himself into the ground, chasing round after the other children and clambering all over the play equipment.

The highlight, though, was seeing Harry on a bouncy castle. His expression was hilarious – he couldn’t work out how to stand up on it, so he spent most of the time sitting down letting the other children bounce around him.

Sunday was similarly hectic with a trip to the seaside – Barmouth to be precise. The weather was glorious; scorching hot and not a cloud in the sky. And thanks to Harry being a bit of an early bird, we were on the beach just after 9am.

Watching Harry on the sand was fascinating. It was obviously a strange sensation for him and it took him about an hour before he was confident enough to walk on it. But when he found his feet there was no stopping him and he was soon tearing around the beach, smashing all of the sandcastles I’d been busy making.

It was a similar story when we took him to the sea. Initially he was very cautious about going near the water and, when a wave touched his feet for the first time, he just squealed and ran away. Seconds later, he was charging back towards the water and within a couple of minutes he was down on all fours splashing around and generally having a great time.

By lunchtime, of course, Harry was shattered and he was fast asleep by the time we’d driven out of the car park. But something tells me we’ll be heading back to the beach very soon.

Leaving Harry behind

2010-05-26T12:34:00.000+01:00

I’m happy to admit that I find it very difficult leaving Harry. I’ve got used to going to work, largely because I’ve managed to establish a routine that allows me to feed Harry his breakfast before I go, then bath him and put him to bed when I return home.

I also make an exception when it comes to Harry spending the odd night at his grandparents – it gives Melissa and I the chance to relax, not to mention the chance to have a bit of a lie-in. Even then, we’re always in a hurry to pick him up the following morning.

However, I spent last weekend on a stag night in Poland and it brought home to me just how precious my weekends are when it comes to spending time with Harry.

As best man, I simply had to go, and I’m not going to pretend I didn’t enjoy the chance to have a few beers and a catch up with my friends; after all, since Harry arrived, it’s not been a regular occurrence.

But I do look forward to my weekends enormously because I get to spend so much time with Harry. Melissa likes to hand responsibility for him over to me, and I can spend all day running round after him. What made it worse was on this occasion was the fact that Harry had been poorly last week, suffering from a bout of tonsillitis.

So you can imagine my horror when we arrived at Krakow Airport on Sunday morning, only to find that Liverpool Airport was closed. Initially we were told there would be no flights to Liverpool for a few days and the prospects for the rest of the UK were looking bleak. The thought of being away from Harry for a few more days was heartbreaking.

Eventually, we managed to find four seats on a flight to Bristol. My friends immediately said that I should have one of them, as I needed to get back to Harry. I was extremely relieved and grabbed the chance to get home with both hands. I did feel a bit guilty about leaving the others behind, though, particularly when I found out they weren’t going to get back until Tuesday.

We finally made it home just before midnight on Sunday, much to my relief. Of course, Harry was fast asleep, and it took a fair amount of self control not to pick him up and give him a cuddle. When I heard him crying in the night, though, I was in his room like a flash.

He seemed very pleased to see me when he woke the following morning and I was over the moon when he pointed at me and said ‘da da’. Let’s just say I’m looking forward to this weekend.

Tantrums and challenges

2010-05-14T14:00:00.000+01:00

As I’ve said several times in this column, being a dad is a wonderful and incredibly rewarding experience.

With Harry now 15 months old, however, I’m starting to understand one of the major challenges of parenthood – dealing with tantrums.

This is Harry’s latest discovery. If he doesn’t get his own way, he collapses in a heap on the floor and screams.

Unfortunately this can happen at any time – and Harry isn’t fussy about where he chooses to have his tantrums. We’ve had them in supermarkets, in the street, in cafes, and so on. I’ll admit it can be quite embarrassing, and you always get the odd person looking at you as if to say ‘how could be so cruel to that little boy’.

The first time it happened, I was so surprised I didn’t quite know how to react. It was a textbook tantrum – lying down on the floor and shouting at the top of his voice. In fact, it was so unexpected, I almost laughed.

At the moment, the slightest setback can trigger one. At home, we’ve got safety blanks covering all of our plug sockets, which is just as well because one of Harry’s favourite pastimes is flicking the switches. Of course, it’s my job to keep him away from the plugs and, guess what, this results in tantrums galore.

It’s incredible how quickly these tantrums blow over, though. Within seconds of crying his heart out, he will be back on his feet again laughing. Harry clearly knows what he’s doing.

Melissa says it’s just a phase and, as she points out, we’ll soon be able to communicate with him better. By this, I take it she means we’ll soon be able to start bribing him which, if I remember my childhood correctly, is just about the most effective way of ensuring good behaviour.

He is now saying a few more words and clearly understands more and more when we talk to him.

The best bit about this is opening the door when I get home from work, and hearing him shout ‘dad, dad, dad’. It’s a magical feeling and reminds me just how lucky I am.

My new lifestyle

2010-05-10T13:30:00.000+01:00

I’ve said before that having a child alters your lifestyle massively and last weekend summed up just how much my life has changed since Harry arrived.

In the past, a bank holiday weekend would have been based around trips to the pub, a nice meal out, and maybe a trip to the football. This time, my weekend included taking Harry to see his great, great Auntie Margaret and Uncle Charlie, a trip to Chirk’s maypole dancing display, and a first birthday party.

Now if you’d have told me five years ago that’s how I would be spending my weekends, I doubt I’d have believed you. But do you know what? I loved every minute of it, mainly because I was able to spend so much time with Harry and, of course, because I got to show him off to family and friends.

Unfortunately, my ideas about ideal days out don’t always accord with Harry’s. This meant that during our visit to Ellesmere to see Auntie Margaret and Uncle Charlie, I spent most of the time trying to stop Harry breaking various bits of furniture.

The maypole event was another challenge as Harry was determined to join in the dancing, which meant something of a battle during the performance. We managed somehow, though, and it was definitely worth it for the excellent home-made Welsh cakes we bought.

On Sunday Harry was invited to a party to celebrate a first birthday of one of his friends from playgroup, Austin. It was great fun (the food was fantastic – it’s been a while since I was able to have proper party food) and there was even a bouncy castle which, unfortunately, was a little on the small side for me. Harry enjoyed it though, and it was great to see him playing with the other children, even if I did have to intervene on a couple of occasions as he tried to wrestle toys off other children.

As we were recovering on Sunday night, Melissa said: “It’s going to be like this for the next 15 years, so you’d better get used to it.” I might just do that, you know.

Food, glorious food

2010-05-04T08:45:00.000+01:00

We’ve been lucky that Harry has been such a good eater since he started on solid food.

His appetite seemed to be endless and he was quite prepared to eat anything we put in front of him.
But as with all babies, things change very quickly and Harry has now decided there as some foods he just doesn’t like, which is making life a little bit, well, messy.

Generally, he will put the food into his mouth, but if he doesn’t like the taste or texture, he takes it out again and waves it around. Sometimes, if you’re unlucky or don’t move quickly enough, you get caught in the crossfire which means you can end up with food plastered across your face.

Harry’s chief dislikes when it comes to food at the moment are jelly, pasta, set custard and baked beans. These also happen to be among the messiest foods when he decides to start throwing them around the place.

Interestingly, this change in attitude to some foods has coincided with Harry wanting to play a more active role at meal times. When we let him have a spoon and a yoghurt, he is able to get at least some of the food into his mouth (although most of it still ends up on the highchair).

He also likes to share food now, which is another experience not to be missed. Harry will put some food into his own mouth before taking it out a moment later and trying to put it in your mouth instead.

Again, this can be a messy process as Harry’s coordination is not perfect and the food can just as easily end up in your ear as your mouth. And when it does end up in your mouth, it’s not always particularly pleasant having been chewed already.

Hopefully this is just another phase in his development that will pass fairly quickly – if only to save on all the washing.

Smile

2010-04-23T15:31:00.000+01:00

The pace of Harry’s development continues to amaze me. It’s only a couple of months since he started to walk but he’s now very confident on his feet and will dash about the place at surprising speed.

His latest trick is climbing. Melissa says he’s seen other children doing this at playgroup and is simply copying them; whatever, he’s certainly a quick learner.

The other day Harry and I were playing in the conservatory when Harry decided to throw his bottle of juice across the room. I went to pick it up and as soon as I turned my back, Harry climbed on to the coffee table and sat, cross-legged, grinning like a Cheshire cat and clearly very proud of what he’d done.
I snatched him off the table as quickly as I could but every time he gets an opportunity, he starts lifting his little leg to climb on anything and everything. One thing’s for sure, babysitting Harry is an energetic pastime.

And that’s not the only thing causing heart failure for us this week. Harry is now tall enough – just – to reach door handles so he can let himself out of rooms.

I thought this was still a few months off but a week or so ago I changed Harry’s nappy in the bathroom upstairs and was just putting the cream and dirty nappy away with my back to Harry. Moments later, I heard the door handle go and thought it was Melissa – so I was pretty shocked to see Harry disappearing off down the landing laughing to himself.

His character is really starting to shine through now – he knows when he’s done something wrong and will try and charm you with a smile when you tell him off.

He also flashes a smile when he’s succeeded in doing something he knows he shouldn’t, and he also looks at you and grins while trying to sidle up to something he knows he’s not allowed to touch.

And while keeping up with Harry may sometimes be a bit of challenge, it’s still the most rewarding experience of my life.

Ty Mawr revelation

2010-04-20T12:54:00.000+01:00

We all like to moan about the council – the roads have got too many pot holes, our council tax is too high, and so on and so on.

Normally, I’m no different but, for a change, I’m going to say something good about Wrexham County Council.

So what’s the reason for this sudden change of attitude? Simple, I visited Ty Mawr Country Park on Sunday – and was bowled over.

For those of you that haven’t visited this fantastic facility in Cefn Mawr, it’s a superbly maintained park that has lovely walks, picnic areas, and play areas, as well as various animals, all in the shadow of the impressive Cefn Viaduct, (which I now know was built in 1848 by Thomas Brassey).

Best of all, there’s no entry fee – although you can make a donation to help with the upkeep of the park – which makes it ideal if you’re looking for an inexpensive way to spend an afternoon.
I’d driven past the entrance on numerous occasions, but I’d never actually visited the park. However, with the weather glorious, Melissa decided it would be the perfect spot for a picnic with Harry.

In fact the only problem was keeping Harry still while we ate our lunch – he was more interested in toddling off to see the animals. He was particularly taken with Hovis, a very large rabbit, and a turkey, whose name escapes me.

Then there were the guinea pigs, goats, sheep and donkeys. Harry was able to pat one of the donkeys but, once he started patting, he didn’t want to stop, which resulted in a tantrum that threatened to shatter a very peaceful afternoon.

Fortunately, with so much to see, the tantrum didn’t last long and Harry was soon smiling again.

It was a perfect way to spend a sunny spring afternoon and, given that Ty Mawr is only a couple of minutes from our front door, I’m sure we’ll be back again very soon.

Early mornings...

2010-04-09T15:16:00.000+01:00

One thing’s for sure, you certainly get good value from your weekends when you’ve got a little one. Before we had Harry, our weekends were a chance to catch up on sleep after a long week at work.

I’m not talking about staying in bed all day, but being able to sleep until 9am was taken for granted.

Nowadays, sleeping until seven is a bonus. Over the Easter weekend, Harry was up at six every day – which meant we were downstairs having breakfast by quarter past. Unlike me, however, Harry is full of beans at that time of the day.
So on Saturday morning, while I was nursing a cup of tea and feeling sorry for myself, Harry was shouting at me to make a jigsaw with him. Believe me, it takes quite a lot of effort to get down on all fours and play at that time of day.

But getting up that early does have its advantages. For a start, the day is a lot longer.

We were out and about by half past eight, which is great if you need to go shopping – everywhere is, understandably, nice and quiet at that time of the morning (except, of course, for other parents who have been woken up at an unsuitable hour).

Another advantage is it encourages you to drink less alcohol; the thought of being woken up at six in the morning after one-too-many the night before does not appeal. While this can be a bit depressing, especially over a bank holiday weekend, I’m sure my liver is very grateful.

Finally, it also means I get to spend plenty of time with Harry – being up at six gives me a good 12 hours to play with him. The only thing is, we’re both ready for bed by seven in the evening.

Getting some understanding

2010-04-06T10:06:00.001+01:00

It’s surprising how quickly toddlers pick things up. Harry is learning all the time and can now understand (some) instructions. For instance, if I ask him to bring me the ball, he will go off, find it and throw it at me.

I know it sounds a bit like training a dog, but it’s enormously satisfying when he understands what you’re trying to say. Harry’s also started trying to answer us, which is great, even if he’s only managing one or two recognisable words at the moment.

He has other ways of making understand what he wants too. At night time, for instance, when Harry’s ready for bed he’ll walk to the living room door and hold his arms out for me to take him up.

Now that Harry is beginning to understand us more, it’s time to begin the difficult task of telling him off when he does something naughty.

I have to say, I’m finding this difficult. The other day, Melissa was sat on the sofa while Harry and I were playing on the floor. Harry then wandered over to Melissa and put his head on her leg before biting her, viciously.

Melissa was shocked and told Harry off sternly. He smiled sweetly back at her, although I’m sure he knew he had done something wrong. Unfortunately, I found it difficult to keep a straight face.

Of course, the tables were turned a couple of days later when Harry decided to hit me in, how can a put this, a rather delicate area, with one of his toys. In between gasping for breath, I managed to say ‘naughty boy’ while Melissa collapsed in fits of laughter next to me.

Anyway, both Melissa and I are now making a conscious effort to be stern with Harry when he’s naughty. Something tells me it’s not going to be easy.

Appetite for destruction

2010-04-06T10:04:00.001+01:00

I always wondered why my friends with children always looked slightly on edge. Now I’m beginning to understand.

In the last two weeks, Harry has managed to wreck our laptop, as well as smashing our slow cooker.

Not only has this caused a fair amount of stress in the Wright household – especially for Melissa who has been deprived of Facebook – it’s also turned out to be fairly costly to replace or repair the items in question.

It amazes me that someone so small can cause so much mischief. Some days when I step through the back door at home, there’s a trail of destruction leading to the front room.

On these occasions, I’m generally met by a grinning Harry, while a shell-shocked Melissa sits among the debris. As a rule, this isn’t a good time to point out that the house looks a bit of a mess.

But even on days like this, I can’t wait to get through the door, play with Harry and, if I’m really lucky, feed him his tea.

Meal times are now quite a challenge because Harry knows it’s time to eat as soon as we put him in his highchair.

The problem is, he doesn’t have a great deal of patience where food is concerned, so we always have five minutes of shouting and banging the table while I heat up his tea.

The trouble really starts if the food is too hot – Harry will scream and strain until his face is purple as one of us desperately tries to cool it down.

Believe me, I’ve ended up leaping around the kitchen singing at the top of my voice on more than one occasion to try and distract him. All things considered, it’s no wonder parents always look slightly on edge.

2010-03-12T09:27:00.003Z

Holidays are meant to be an enjoyable and relaxing way to recharge your batteries. Why then, after a week in the Canaries, do I feel like I need another week off work? Simple: Harry.

Before I go on, I should say that our holiday wasn’t a disaster by any means. Harry certainly enjoyed himself and it was nice to get in the sun for a few days.

Going abroad with a toddler is, however, a very different, and altogether more challenging experience. The main problem is the travelling itself – and it made both Melissa and I long for the simplicity of being able to throw everything into the back of our car.

We arrived at the airport two hours before our flight, which meant plenty of hanging around, trying to keep Harry entertained. It’s not as easy as it sounds. To complicate matters, Harry had woken up with a slight stomach upset – nothing serious, but it meant a couple of dirty nappies in the airport, which wasn’t the ideal way to kick off the holiday.

To make matters worse, when we got on the plane Harry filled his nappy again. Unfortunately, we were told by the cabin crew that we wouldn’t be able to change him until we were in the air and the seatbelt sign had been turned off.

Half an hour later, we were still stationary on the tarmac, with Harry on the brink of dropping off. Our pleas to change Harry again fell on deaf ears and we ended up having to wake him when we finally did get into the air an hour or so later.

The journey home was less eventful – or at least it was until Harry decided to start hitting the lady sat in front of us on the plane over the head with one of his books.

As I say, the holiday itself was good and Harry loved splashing around in the pool and being made a fuss of by the hotel staff. Nevertheless, Melissa has vowed it will be at least 10 years before we go abroad again. She might be exaggerating slightly, but she does have a point. As for Harry, he’ll just have to get used to the unpredictable British weather.

The learning curve

2010-03-12T09:27:00.001Z

I’ve said repeatedly that being a parent has been a massive learning curve for me. But as well as learning all about being a dad, I’ve also learned quite a lot about Melissa.

There’s no doubt that having a baby puts plenty of pressure on a couple. First there’s the obvious factors like a lack of sleep that can cause one or two sharp words. Then there’s the stress involved in being responsible for a baby – and worrying constantly about their wellbeing.

And I will admit that we’ve had the odd sharp exchange when Harry’s fallen over or, worse, when one of us has given him food that’s a little bit too hot.

One thing that has surprised me, though, is that having Harry has brought out a previously unseen, slightly dishonest side to Melissa. Now before I find myself out on the street, we’re not talking about serious dishonesty here. What we’re talking about is pretending to be asleep when Harry cries in the middle of the night, even when it’s her turn to get up.

Having said all that – and without wishing to sound soppy – Melissa and I have definitely grown closer since Harry was born. For a start we’re spending more time together, and what could be a more important shared interest than Harry?

It’s also true to say that the stressful moments pale into insignificance against the moments of awe and pure happiness – the first time I held Harry, the first time he sneezed, the first time he smiled, his first steps… I could go on and on.

And anyway, Melissa and I have sort of reached an agreement whenever there’s cross words about Harry. It seems to be based on the Brian Clough technique of management; we sit down to discuss an issue involving Harry, talk about it for ten minutes, and then decide Melissa was right all along. Well at least it makes for a quiet life.

The toy battle

2010-03-12T09:26:00.000Z

We’ve bought plenty of toys for Harry since he was born and he’s now got everything from trucks to trampolines cluttering our front room.

But however expensive, fancy or exciting the toy, Harry will drop it immediately if there’s even the most remote chance of getting his hands on the Sudocrem for a minute.

I’m not sure why he’s like this – but I’m sure he’s not unique in this regard. I suppose it’s because if he’s not supposed to get hold of something, it makes it all the more desirable.

And it’s not just Sudocrem. There’s the television remote control, food, and anything in the bathroom, particularly shampoo, which he enjoys squirting onto the carpet or, worse, into his mouth.

I find it surprising because his toys are pretty impressive. I’m especially fond of his ‘Whiz-Around Mountain’ car set, which keeps me entertained for hours. Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t share my enthusiasm.

In fact his favourite ‘toy’ is a tent, decorated in extremely bright colours with characters from the children’s television show Waybuloo. Harry likes to hide in the tent while we pretend we don’t know where he is. This usually leads to giggles galore from Harry – and I don’t think there’s a nicer sound on earth.

But Harry’s quest for forbidden objects mean we have to be constantly on our guard. Leaving a door open for just a few seconds prompts a mad dash to escape and, if you’re not quick enough, he’ll be heading for the stairs or kitchen within seconds.

It’s not so bad when you’re at home, but when we’re visiting friends and family – particularly those without small children – it’s a constant battle to stop Harry getting his hands on things he shouldn’t.

I’m sure every parent has been through the same and half an hour of this can leave you exhausted, not to mention embarrassed. Mind you, nobody said being a parent was going to be easy.

Showing off

2010-02-22T11:03:00.001Z

SINCE having Harry, Melissa’s said repeatedly that having a baby makes you forgetful. I’ve always gone along with this without really understanding what she’s talking about. Now I think I know what she means.

Last weekend Melissa spent the day with friends in Chester. This meant I spent the day looking after Harry.
It was all going very smoothly, so smoothly in fact that I tried to show off – and almost came a cropper.

Things started to go wrong when I put Harry down for his afternoon nap. I thought, what with it being Valentine’s weekend, I could do a bit of cleaning to save Melissa.

However, while cleaning the bathroom, I took off my wedding ring, put it down on the floor and promptly forgot all about it. With the cleaning done, Harry woke but I decided to go one step further and vacuum the house too.

Now Harry loves the vacuum cleaner and he was quite happy to follow me around the house while I finished off.
Feeling a little bit smug, we went downstairs to play and it wasn’t until a couple of hours later I realised I was missing something – my wedding ring.

Cue scenes of panic. I’ve no idea what Harry made of it all; I’m sure he was more than a little bemused to see his dad tearing round like a madman and turning the house upside down.

Eventually I realised I must have left it in the bathroom. Unfortunately there was no sign of it. Thinking I’d vacuumed it up, I set about dismantling the Dyson. Eventually – and after making a considerable amount of mess – I found it stuck in the tubes.

Of course, the relief turned to embarrassment pretty soon afterwards and the episode brought to mind one of my nan’s favourite sayings, “Pride comes before a fall.”

At least I learned a valuable lesson: don’t bother trying to help out with the housework when you’ve got a toddler in tow.

Learning to communicate

2010-02-16T09:51:00.002Z

It’s amazing how babies learn to communicate. Harry is learning all the time and, when it comes to making his feelings known, he’s pretty successful.

He is attempting to talk now. He says ‘dadda’ an awful lot, but it’s pretty indiscriminate and just when I think he’s referring to me, he shouts ‘dadda’ at the television instead.

Much to Melissa’s delight, he’s also started making a ‘mmmm’ sound. Melissa’s convinced he’s trying to say mum; I think he’s trying to tell us he’s hungry.

His only other word is ‘baba’, but neither of us can work out what he means when he says it. One thing’s for sure, he’s a real chatterbox already, always talking, shouting and muttering – obviously something he’s inherited from his mum.

Harry’s favourite means of communicating, though, is pointing. He learned to point just before Christmas and now, whenever he wants to get his hands on something, he points and shouts ‘ah’ or ‘eh’ until we eventually give in – which is normally followed by Harry clapping his hands and smiling.

Harry’s also learned that if he puts both arms in the air, we’ll pick him up. Now he’s forever waddling over to us, dropping a book in our lap and putting both his arms in the air.

I’d like to say he then sits happily for 15 or 20 minutes reading the book, but it normally lasts five minutes before he starts pointing at another book and shouting.

Harry’s other means of communication is, of course, crying. Fortunately for us, he’s not a grumpy baby so we don’t have to put up with a lot of this, unless he’s not feeling well, he’s hurt himself – or he’s hungry.

He’s even learning to put himself to sleep at night, so we no longer have the half-hour tantrum we were getting before Christmas. This has certainly made for a calmer atmosphere in the Wright household – something of a relief after a day of chasing Harry round.

Nappies

2010-02-16T09:51:00.001Z

I haven’t mentioned nappies for a while so I thought it might be a good time to redress the balance.

And just because I haven’t mentioned them for a while doesn’t mean everything’s rosy in that department either. In fact, changing – and dressing – Harry is now more of a challenge than it’s ever been.

Now, whenever he needs a nappy change, it’s a major event and usually takes about 15 minutes by the time you’ve chased him round the house a couple of times. The problem is, he won’t stay still and lying on his back is simply out of the question.

For a while we were able to bribe him by taking him to the bathroom and turning a tap on. Harry, believing he was going to get a bath, would stand by the bath giving us just enough time to change his bottom.

Unfortunately he’s a quick learner and, as soon as he realises he’s not getting a bath, he scampers off, with Melissa or me, or both of us, scrambling after him with nappy in one hand and Sudocrem in the other.

Believe me, changing Harry can sometimes be more tiring than an hour at the gym.

It’s a similar story when it comes to getting him dressed. My usual tactic is putting him in his cot while I try and get a vest over his head. This isn’t as easy as it sounds with a screaming toddler who’s determined to fight you off.

It’s nothing if not stressful but we get there eventually – usually just in time for Melissa to announce that the trousers I’ve put on him don’t match his shirt. Then it we have to do it all over again…

In the Night Garden

2010-02-16T09:50:00.000Z

Before we had Harry, I was very naïve about what being a parent involved. Specifically, I didn’t really appreciate that looking after a little one is relentless.

Just to make it completely clear, I’m not complaining at all. I love spending time with Harry, particularly now he’s getting a bit older and starting to enjoy games.

However, there is nowhere to hide with a one-year-old on the loose and it certainly means you appreciate the peace and quiet when he goes to bed at night.

Incidentally, we’ve now discovered that Harry really likes books. He will sit quietly with a book for ten minutes or more, turning the pages and looking at the pictures, before returning to the more pressing task of tearing around the house creating chaos.

I have to confess, though, that both Melissa and I do allow Harry to watch the television to give us a little bit of a break from time to time.

Before he was born, I didn’t think we’d allow Harry to watch television at such a young age but it is a very useful way of calming him down, particularly before bedtime.

Harry’s only allowed to watch the television for half an hour or so each day and, because it’s a treat for him, it often does the trick if he won’t settle down.
His favourite programme is In The Night Garden and I’ve become a bit of a fan too. This means I’m now an expert in all the characters, Iggle Piggle, Upsy Daisy, Makka Pakka, and the Titifers (stop sniggering, they’re birds), as well as their preferred choice of transport, the Ninky Nonk and the Pinky Ponk. It’s a whole new world.

Harry loves it. As soon as he sees Iggle Piggle, he jumps up and claps his hands in anticipation of the signature song. It’s lovely to watch. Unfortunately for me, the songs happen to be quite catchy and I often find myself humming them in work, which can be a little embarrassing.

It could be worse though and, as I say, I quite enjoy the programme anyway. Altogether now, Iggle piggle, iggle onk, we’re going to catch the Ninky Nonk!