WITH James' arrival on the scene, Harry suddenly seems grown up. His behaviour since he became a big brother has been a pleasant surprise and he appears to have adjusted very well to, let's face it, what was a major change in his world.
Three weeks in, he's still quite relaxed about the situation and has even given his little brother a nickname – Jamesey.
I was also worried that James would wake Harry up during the night but, so far at least, that hasn't happened. If anything, Harry's slept better in the last three weeks than he did before James was born.
Harry was certainly not going to be upstaged by his little brother's arrival though. At his playgroup's Easter bonnet parade, he performed a solo – I can sing a rainbow – which had both Melissa and I choked up. I'm just glad he takes after Melissa when it comes to singing.
Having got used to handling a newborn again (it took me a while!), Harry now seems huge in comparison. Everything about him looks so big compared to James – from his feet, to his hands and his head.
In fact, it's almost as if Harry has gone from being a toddler to a little boy overnight.
As for James, he's doing well and is continuing to put on weight, which is always a good sign.
He's also sleeping pretty well, which is something of a relief. I can't help feeling that this might be down to the fact that we aren't fussing over him quite as much as we did with Harry. Mind you, he's only three weeks old so there's plenty of time for him change his mind yet.
Showing posts with label Melissa Wright. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Melissa Wright. Show all posts
Tuesday, 17 April 2012
Tuesday, 10 April 2012
A shock to the system
It’s fair to say that both Melissa and I have found dealing with a newborn a bit of a shock to the system.
Our first two weeks with James have, on the whole, been pretty good and we’ve even managed to get a decent amount of sleep. But there was so much I’d forgotten about caring for such a young child.
For a start, I found holding James nerve-wracking. I’m used to picking up a robust three-year-old, so handling a baby, albeit a relatively large one – he was 8lb 11oz when born – came as a real shock.
There were other, more messy, elements that I had also forgotten, chiefly that little boys like to go to the toilet when their nappies are removed.
This proved costly at the hospital when I ended up on the wrong end of a soaking. Still, Melissa also got caught out in similar fashion which made me a feel a bit better.
However, a few days later I got covered when James decided to projectile poop while I was changing his nappy.
Harry, who was helping out with the changing, gagged when he realised what had happened, which had me in stitches.
Speaking of Harry, he’s adjusting to life as a big brother pretty well, although he still doesn’t like it when James cries.
We’ve also had a couple of moments though when things have got too much for Harry.
When he came into our room the other morning he told me he that he’d decided he didn’t want to be a big brother.
“Can we take James back daddy?” he asked. “I don’t want him here any more.”
Our first two weeks with James have, on the whole, been pretty good and we’ve even managed to get a decent amount of sleep. But there was so much I’d forgotten about caring for such a young child.
For a start, I found holding James nerve-wracking. I’m used to picking up a robust three-year-old, so handling a baby, albeit a relatively large one – he was 8lb 11oz when born – came as a real shock.
There were other, more messy, elements that I had also forgotten, chiefly that little boys like to go to the toilet when their nappies are removed.
This proved costly at the hospital when I ended up on the wrong end of a soaking. Still, Melissa also got caught out in similar fashion which made me a feel a bit better.
However, a few days later I got covered when James decided to projectile poop while I was changing his nappy.
Harry, who was helping out with the changing, gagged when he realised what had happened, which had me in stitches.
Speaking of Harry, he’s adjusting to life as a big brother pretty well, although he still doesn’t like it when James cries.
We’ve also had a couple of moments though when things have got too much for Harry.
When he came into our room the other morning he told me he that he’d decided he didn’t want to be a big brother.
“Can we take James back daddy?” he asked. “I don’t want him here any more.”
A dramatic entrance
James William Wright arrived in dramatic fashion on Friday, March 23 at 2.54pm.
I say dramatic because little James somehow managed to get his shoulder trapped during delivery, prompting the midwife to pull the emergency chord.
Within seconds the room was filled with people who – and I’m not entirely sure how this happened – managed to get James out safely.
At the time I didn’t have a clue what was going on and I was terrified, particularly when a purple and, as far as I could tell unresponsive, baby boy was whisked away by a doctor. Melissa’s mum was also present for the birth and, judging by the look on her face, I was not only the one fearing the worse.
But minutes later, everything had calmed down and James, already showing off his impressive appetite, was back with his mum.
It was an extremely intense experience – and certainly not one I would like to repeat. I was so choked up that I could hardly speak when I called my mum to tell her that grandson number two had arrived.
In fact Melissa was a lot more composed than I was. “I just kept my eyes closed, I didn’t know what was going on,” she told me later. For the first time that day, I envied Melissa.
Throughout, the care we received was fantastic. Lynda, the midwife who looked after us was wonderful and didn’t tell me to shut up once. Equally, the response when James refused to come out was fantastic.
As for James, he’s doing very well under the watchful eye of big brother Harry. Harry is quite relaxed about the new arrival, although he doesn’t like it when he cries. “That baby’s whinging again, daddy,” he says. “You need to sort it out.”
I say dramatic because little James somehow managed to get his shoulder trapped during delivery, prompting the midwife to pull the emergency chord.
Within seconds the room was filled with people who – and I’m not entirely sure how this happened – managed to get James out safely.
At the time I didn’t have a clue what was going on and I was terrified, particularly when a purple and, as far as I could tell unresponsive, baby boy was whisked away by a doctor. Melissa’s mum was also present for the birth and, judging by the look on her face, I was not only the one fearing the worse.
But minutes later, everything had calmed down and James, already showing off his impressive appetite, was back with his mum.
It was an extremely intense experience – and certainly not one I would like to repeat. I was so choked up that I could hardly speak when I called my mum to tell her that grandson number two had arrived.
In fact Melissa was a lot more composed than I was. “I just kept my eyes closed, I didn’t know what was going on,” she told me later. For the first time that day, I envied Melissa.
Throughout, the care we received was fantastic. Lynda, the midwife who looked after us was wonderful and didn’t tell me to shut up once. Equally, the response when James refused to come out was fantastic.
As for James, he’s doing very well under the watchful eye of big brother Harry. Harry is quite relaxed about the new arrival, although he doesn’t like it when he cries. “That baby’s whinging again, daddy,” he says. “You need to sort it out.”
Monday, 19 March 2012
The waiting continues
WITH the waiting game for the new arrival continuing, we didn't want to venture too far from home. But with the glorious weather we enjoyed last weekend, sitting in the house wasn't an option.
So it was the ideal time to get stuck into the garden. To be honest, for every weed I dug up, Harry removed at least three plants but when you're gardening with a three-year-old, that seems to be par for the course.
What I found more difficult to deal with was Harry constantly being under my feet; wherever I started to dig, I'd hear a little voice behind me: “Beep, beep, excuse me, Harry coming through.”
My main worry was Harry creeping up on me while I was wielding a spade (I'm not very safe at the best of times). Fortunately there was no damage done, but we didn't make quite as much progress as I'd hoped.
Nevertheless, we had plenty of fun and the weather was the icing on the cake – it felt like late April or early May rather than the beginning of March.
The other notable event was that Harry discovered the joys of playing on a swing. Up to this point, Harry hasn't been a fan of swings. Even when he was little, he just didn't seem to like the sensation.
We were therefore very surprised at his reaction after Melissa's dad had put up a swing in the garden.
To start with, Harry was a bit cautious; 15 minutes later, he was trying to swing while standing up.
Even when he got a bit over-adventurous and slipped off the seat, landing in a heap on the ground, he wasn't put off, dusting himself off and jumping straight back on.
And now Harry's discovered the swing, I might just be able to finish that gardening.
So it was the ideal time to get stuck into the garden. To be honest, for every weed I dug up, Harry removed at least three plants but when you're gardening with a three-year-old, that seems to be par for the course.
What I found more difficult to deal with was Harry constantly being under my feet; wherever I started to dig, I'd hear a little voice behind me: “Beep, beep, excuse me, Harry coming through.”
My main worry was Harry creeping up on me while I was wielding a spade (I'm not very safe at the best of times). Fortunately there was no damage done, but we didn't make quite as much progress as I'd hoped.
Nevertheless, we had plenty of fun and the weather was the icing on the cake – it felt like late April or early May rather than the beginning of March.
The other notable event was that Harry discovered the joys of playing on a swing. Up to this point, Harry hasn't been a fan of swings. Even when he was little, he just didn't seem to like the sensation.
We were therefore very surprised at his reaction after Melissa's dad had put up a swing in the garden.
To start with, Harry was a bit cautious; 15 minutes later, he was trying to swing while standing up.
Even when he got a bit over-adventurous and slipped off the seat, landing in a heap on the ground, he wasn't put off, dusting himself off and jumping straight back on.
And now Harry's discovered the swing, I might just be able to finish that gardening.
Friday, 9 March 2012
On standby
Well, another week has passed and – at the time of writing – there's still no sign of our new arrival.
This is all very frustrating for Melissa, who has now well and truly had enough of being pregnant. The first pregnancy was an adventure into the unknown. This time Melissa, knows exactly what's in store and, understandably, just wants to get on with it.
There's also another distinction. When Harry was born, neither of us thought very much about what would happen after the birth; we were both completely focussed on the delivery itself.
I'm sure this birth will be just as exciting, but it is tempered by the fact that we have Harry to think about – and also by the fact that we can't wait to get back to some kind of normality.
The wait is also proving frustrating for Harry, who wants his mum back to normal. Melissa can't pick Harry up as much as he's used to, or get down on the floor to play with him. He's not happy about it, either. A couple of days ago he told me: “Waiting for this baby is boring daddy. I'm getting fed up.”
As for me, well I have to admit that I'm very excited about the new arrival. In fact, it's probably fair to say that I've been driving Melissa mad over the last couple of days. Every time she so much as groans, I've been asking if she's gone into labour or whether her waters have broken. Apparently, this is annoying.
As to whether I'll still be as excited about things after two weeks of no sleep, I'm not so sure but at least I know what to expect second time around.
This is all very frustrating for Melissa, who has now well and truly had enough of being pregnant. The first pregnancy was an adventure into the unknown. This time Melissa, knows exactly what's in store and, understandably, just wants to get on with it.
There's also another distinction. When Harry was born, neither of us thought very much about what would happen after the birth; we were both completely focussed on the delivery itself.
I'm sure this birth will be just as exciting, but it is tempered by the fact that we have Harry to think about – and also by the fact that we can't wait to get back to some kind of normality.
The wait is also proving frustrating for Harry, who wants his mum back to normal. Melissa can't pick Harry up as much as he's used to, or get down on the floor to play with him. He's not happy about it, either. A couple of days ago he told me: “Waiting for this baby is boring daddy. I'm getting fed up.”
As for me, well I have to admit that I'm very excited about the new arrival. In fact, it's probably fair to say that I've been driving Melissa mad over the last couple of days. Every time she so much as groans, I've been asking if she's gone into labour or whether her waters have broken. Apparently, this is annoying.
As to whether I'll still be as excited about things after two weeks of no sleep, I'm not so sure but at least I know what to expect second time around.
Thursday, 8 March 2012
Food, glorious food
ONE of the many headaches of parenthood is food, specifically getting your children to eat healthily.
It's not always easy. Children seem to have an inbuilt aversion to things that are good for them, while at the same time being drawn to food that you would, in an ideal world, prefer them to steer clear of.
Harry isn't too bad on the eating front, although he will no longer drink any milk (unless it's on cereal), and he has recently developed a dislike for most things green (peas and grapes being the notable exceptions).
He will, though, eat carrots, most meat and fish, as well as apples, bananas and pears, not to mention mountains of mashed potato. Then there are yoghurts and cheese – Harry would quite happily eat these all day, every day given half a chance.
When he's poorly, though, food can become a real battleground. In fact, when he was ill a couple of weeks ago, we were trying everything to get him eating – and the only successes were yoghurts and cheese.
The there's chocolate. Now Harry may take after me when it comes to his fondness for cheese, but he's definitely his mum's son when it comes to chocolate. Honestly, his appetite for it is incredible – even when he's not well. As well as being unhealthy, it's also particularly messy; trying to keep Harry presentable when he's given a chocolate bar is a real mission impossible.
Strangely enough, though, he hasn't inherited his mum's love of sweets generally. In fact, he will spit out any type of sweet that's not got chocolate on it. I suppose we should be thankful for small mercies.
It's not always easy. Children seem to have an inbuilt aversion to things that are good for them, while at the same time being drawn to food that you would, in an ideal world, prefer them to steer clear of.
Harry isn't too bad on the eating front, although he will no longer drink any milk (unless it's on cereal), and he has recently developed a dislike for most things green (peas and grapes being the notable exceptions).
He will, though, eat carrots, most meat and fish, as well as apples, bananas and pears, not to mention mountains of mashed potato. Then there are yoghurts and cheese – Harry would quite happily eat these all day, every day given half a chance.
When he's poorly, though, food can become a real battleground. In fact, when he was ill a couple of weeks ago, we were trying everything to get him eating – and the only successes were yoghurts and cheese.
The there's chocolate. Now Harry may take after me when it comes to his fondness for cheese, but he's definitely his mum's son when it comes to chocolate. Honestly, his appetite for it is incredible – even when he's not well. As well as being unhealthy, it's also particularly messy; trying to keep Harry presentable when he's given a chocolate bar is a real mission impossible.
Strangely enough, though, he hasn't inherited his mum's love of sweets generally. In fact, he will spit out any type of sweet that's not got chocolate on it. I suppose we should be thankful for small mercies.
Friday, 24 February 2012
Shh... keep quiet
Harry doesn't know when to keep quiet. Most of the time, his constant chattering is funny and endearing. Sometimes, however, it can get a bit embarrassing.
Take last week. I took Harry for a swim and, as we got changed ready to go into the pool, Harry spotted a middle-aged man who had obviously just got out of the shower. Harry turned to him and, much to my surprise, and said: “Hello gentleman.”
The man politely replied hello, to which Harry responded: “You're naked.” The man looked embarrassed and continued to dry himself while Harry chanted, “naked, naked, naked” as I tried to drag him into the swimming pool.
When we got into the pool, there were a handful of adults there but no other children. Now Harry particularly likes the acoustics in swimming pools and what was a tranquil afternoon swim for the other people was rudely interrupted by the sound of Harry shouting and squealing at the top of his voice. Trying to keep him quiet would have been pointless.
Going shopping can be just as traumatic. Harry is not afraid to point to people and say, well, inappropriate things such as “why does that man smell daddy?” (loudly of course); or, “that lady's got funny hair daddy”. And he's not quiet. At least it adds a bit of spice to the weekly shop.
Then there's the early mornings. From time to time Harry will wake up particularly early (we're talking half past five here), jump into our bed and just start talking. There's no stopping him. Eventually, usually after hiding under the duvet and pretending to be asleep for half an hour, one of us gives in and takes him downstairs leaving the other breathing a sigh of a relief. Sometimes silence really can be golden.
Take last week. I took Harry for a swim and, as we got changed ready to go into the pool, Harry spotted a middle-aged man who had obviously just got out of the shower. Harry turned to him and, much to my surprise, and said: “Hello gentleman.”
The man politely replied hello, to which Harry responded: “You're naked.” The man looked embarrassed and continued to dry himself while Harry chanted, “naked, naked, naked” as I tried to drag him into the swimming pool.
When we got into the pool, there were a handful of adults there but no other children. Now Harry particularly likes the acoustics in swimming pools and what was a tranquil afternoon swim for the other people was rudely interrupted by the sound of Harry shouting and squealing at the top of his voice. Trying to keep him quiet would have been pointless.
Going shopping can be just as traumatic. Harry is not afraid to point to people and say, well, inappropriate things such as “why does that man smell daddy?” (loudly of course); or, “that lady's got funny hair daddy”. And he's not quiet. At least it adds a bit of spice to the weekly shop.
Then there's the early mornings. From time to time Harry will wake up particularly early (we're talking half past five here), jump into our bed and just start talking. There's no stopping him. Eventually, usually after hiding under the duvet and pretending to be asleep for half an hour, one of us gives in and takes him downstairs leaving the other breathing a sigh of a relief. Sometimes silence really can be golden.
Baby toys
WITH the new arrival only a few weeks away (Melissa's 35 weeks now but I don't think she will hang on until 40), we've been getting all of Harry's baby things down from the loft.
Of course, this prompted a great deal of excitement on Harry's part, particularly when I lifted him up so that he could see inside the loft. I remember when I was younger that lofts held a certain mysterious appeal – probably sparked by too many Enid Blyton stories – and Harry has obviously inherited this view.
In fact, Harry now refers to it as the secret loft and he is determined to make a return visit as soon as possible.
Anyway, the toys were duly unpacked and Harry decided that he wanted to play with his baby toys. Why these toys were suddenly appealing again is beyond me – after all, they hardly compare with Scalextric or train sets do they?
Having said that, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised as Harry seems to go for simple things. A 20p balloon, for instance, seems to provide more entertainment than a £20 toy, while a bucket and spade and somewhere to dig keeps Harry entertained for hours.
Speaking of which, I'm happy to report that it's not just me who's enjoying a second childhood. My dad has been busy dusting off his old train sets and setting them up for Harry.
Harry loves it but my mum is less impressed; apparently dad is now spending too much time - and money - buying new trains on ebay.
Of course, this prompted a great deal of excitement on Harry's part, particularly when I lifted him up so that he could see inside the loft. I remember when I was younger that lofts held a certain mysterious appeal – probably sparked by too many Enid Blyton stories – and Harry has obviously inherited this view.
In fact, Harry now refers to it as the secret loft and he is determined to make a return visit as soon as possible.
Anyway, the toys were duly unpacked and Harry decided that he wanted to play with his baby toys. Why these toys were suddenly appealing again is beyond me – after all, they hardly compare with Scalextric or train sets do they?
Having said that, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised as Harry seems to go for simple things. A 20p balloon, for instance, seems to provide more entertainment than a £20 toy, while a bucket and spade and somewhere to dig keeps Harry entertained for hours.
Speaking of which, I'm happy to report that it's not just me who's enjoying a second childhood. My dad has been busy dusting off his old train sets and setting them up for Harry.
Harry loves it but my mum is less impressed; apparently dad is now spending too much time - and money - buying new trains on ebay.
Poorly
AFTER three years of being a dad, one thing that I just cannot get used to is Harry being poorly.
To be honest, it leaves me feeling stressed – which is shorthand for grumpy.
Now we have been relatively lucky in that regard – Harry isn't a particularly sickly child, although he does struggle a bit with his tonsils. Like all children, though, he does pick up everything that's going around at playgroup.
Anyway, last week Harry picked up a cough and cold, with a slight fever thrown into the mix just to make life interesting. So, on Saturday Harry spent all day on the sofa doing absolutely nothing except watching television, reading and sleeping.
Being used to tearing around after him all day, this felt unnatural and I spent the whole day sat next to him, worrying.
By bedtime, he was shattered and although he went to sleep in his own bed, it wasn't long before he turned up in our room and I was banished to Harry's bunk. As Melissa readily pointed out the next day, I did get the better end of the deal – Harry tosses and turns at the best of times so you can imagine what he's like when he's got a fever.
We got up at 5.20am on Sunday, and Melissa had to go back to bed shortly after to get some rest while I – guilty at having had some peace during the night – tried to keep Harry entertained downstairs.
By Monday morning, he was a little brighter but still feeling rough; I felt guilty leaving Melissa to fend for herself while I went to work. Sure enough, Monday was another tough day for Melissa. Goodness knows how much harder it will be when we've got another one to look after.
To be honest, it leaves me feeling stressed – which is shorthand for grumpy.
Now we have been relatively lucky in that regard – Harry isn't a particularly sickly child, although he does struggle a bit with his tonsils. Like all children, though, he does pick up everything that's going around at playgroup.
Anyway, last week Harry picked up a cough and cold, with a slight fever thrown into the mix just to make life interesting. So, on Saturday Harry spent all day on the sofa doing absolutely nothing except watching television, reading and sleeping.
Being used to tearing around after him all day, this felt unnatural and I spent the whole day sat next to him, worrying.
By bedtime, he was shattered and although he went to sleep in his own bed, it wasn't long before he turned up in our room and I was banished to Harry's bunk. As Melissa readily pointed out the next day, I did get the better end of the deal – Harry tosses and turns at the best of times so you can imagine what he's like when he's got a fever.
We got up at 5.20am on Sunday, and Melissa had to go back to bed shortly after to get some rest while I – guilty at having had some peace during the night – tried to keep Harry entertained downstairs.
By Monday morning, he was a little brighter but still feeling rough; I felt guilty leaving Melissa to fend for herself while I went to work. Sure enough, Monday was another tough day for Melissa. Goodness knows how much harder it will be when we've got another one to look after.
Snow business...
WE HAD a dusting of snow in Chirk last weekend which gave us our first opportunity to get the sledge out for Harry.
I'm sure some people reading this will be thinking “what snow?” but, if you were awake at 7am last Sunday (we were, of course, thanks to Harry), you would have seen a reasonably heavy shower. Harry was so excited he insisted on sitting at the window to eat his breakfast.
The snow didn't last long – just long enough to cover the grass – and we were outside by 8am.
My job was to run around the garden as fast as I could while pulling Harry along on the sledge. It was not particularly dignified. Not that Harry was worried. “Come on dad, go faster,” was a typical response, as I gasped for breath.
Fortunately, Melissa came to the rescue by suggesting we jump in the car to look for a suitable hill.
We soon found a slope that was plenty fast enough and we spent a good half hour trooping up the bank and sliding down it before deciding that we were cold and wet enough.
When I say “we”, I mean Melissa and I; Harry was not at all happy at having his first proper sledging session cut short. After some bribery – chocolate of course – Harry was back in the car.
One thing I did learn, though, was that sledging isn't as easy as an adult. I couldn't resist having a go (persuading Harry wasn't easy) but I was too heavy for the sledge on that amount of snow. “Get off daddy, you're too heavy,” was Harry's rather blunt response.
I'm sure some people reading this will be thinking “what snow?” but, if you were awake at 7am last Sunday (we were, of course, thanks to Harry), you would have seen a reasonably heavy shower. Harry was so excited he insisted on sitting at the window to eat his breakfast.
The snow didn't last long – just long enough to cover the grass – and we were outside by 8am.
My job was to run around the garden as fast as I could while pulling Harry along on the sledge. It was not particularly dignified. Not that Harry was worried. “Come on dad, go faster,” was a typical response, as I gasped for breath.
Fortunately, Melissa came to the rescue by suggesting we jump in the car to look for a suitable hill.
We soon found a slope that was plenty fast enough and we spent a good half hour trooping up the bank and sliding down it before deciding that we were cold and wet enough.
When I say “we”, I mean Melissa and I; Harry was not at all happy at having his first proper sledging session cut short. After some bribery – chocolate of course – Harry was back in the car.
One thing I did learn, though, was that sledging isn't as easy as an adult. I couldn't resist having a go (persuading Harry wasn't easy) but I was too heavy for the sledge on that amount of snow. “Get off daddy, you're too heavy,” was Harry's rather blunt response.
Monday, 30 January 2012
Playgroup
I finally got to take Harry to playgroup last week – and it made me realise just how quickly he is growing up.
Although I'd been desperate to take him since he started in September, I hadn't had chance until last week, so it was somehow appropriate that I managed to do it on his third birthday.
After taking a few weeks to settle in, Harry now loves going to playgroup and talks about the helpers non stop so he was quite excited when he found out that daddy was taking him for a change.
Walking to the door with Harry holding my hand and chattering away made him suddenly seem very grown up and I began to wonder where three years have gone.
Anyway, we walked into the entrance hall and Harry, obviously showing off in front of me by now, hung up his coat and bag. As soon as one of the helpers opened the door to the main hall, Harry turned to me, kissed me and, as quick as a flash, was running off shouting “bye” in my direction without so much as a look back. Talk about having a lump in my throat.
The following day, I was able to take Harry to the parent and toddler group at Chirk Infants School, which is where he will be going in September.
Unlike the playgroup, I stayed with him. What was most interesting was seeing Harry in a different environment. I'm so used to him being boisterous, noisy and cheeky around the house that watching him being (relatively) quiet and shy came as something of a shock.
I have to say the school and the extremely welcoming staff left me very impressed – which makes me feel a lot better about the fact that my little boy will soon be going there every day.
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.
Monday, 16 January 2012
No secrets
CHILDREN can make you feel incredibly guilty, as last Monday demonstrated all too clearly. After taking Harry to visit my grandad, I managed to catch his head while lifting him into his car seat.
It wasn't a big bump and there was no mark on his head but this didn't stop Harry getting quite upset – understandably perhaps – about the whole thing.
“You bumped my head daddy,” he told me through sobs. “That hurt.” I felt terrible, and tried to cheer him up by telling him that we were off to visit my mum and dad.
“I do hope nanny and grandad will be more careful with me,” he responded, just to make me feel even worse. As soon as we got to mum and dad's, Harry told them I'd bumped his head on the car.
“Daddy really hurt my head nanny,” he said as soon as he got through the door, prompting disapproving looks from mum in my direction.
He hadn't forgotten about it the next morning either, telling Melissa how I'd hurt his head, while frowning and wagging his finger in my direction.
At least it's not personal. During a shopping trip last Saturday, Melissa inadvertently trapped Harry's hand in a supermarket trolley, prompting a similar outcry. Melissa was beside herself with guilt which wasn't eased by the fact that Harry told everyone we bumped into about his poorly finger.
There's certainly no secrets with Harry.
It wasn't a big bump and there was no mark on his head but this didn't stop Harry getting quite upset – understandably perhaps – about the whole thing.
“You bumped my head daddy,” he told me through sobs. “That hurt.” I felt terrible, and tried to cheer him up by telling him that we were off to visit my mum and dad.
“I do hope nanny and grandad will be more careful with me,” he responded, just to make me feel even worse. As soon as we got to mum and dad's, Harry told them I'd bumped his head on the car.
“Daddy really hurt my head nanny,” he said as soon as he got through the door, prompting disapproving looks from mum in my direction.
He hadn't forgotten about it the next morning either, telling Melissa how I'd hurt his head, while frowning and wagging his finger in my direction.
At least it's not personal. During a shopping trip last Saturday, Melissa inadvertently trapped Harry's hand in a supermarket trolley, prompting a similar outcry. Melissa was beside herself with guilt which wasn't eased by the fact that Harry told everyone we bumped into about his poorly finger.
There's certainly no secrets with Harry.
Second time around...
With the arrival of Harry's brother or sister rapidly approaching (nine weeks and counting), I've been thinking about what I want to differently this time around.
The main thing I've decided is to let the baby sleep as much as possible. While I'm sure I'll be just as besotted with the new arrival as I was with Harry, I won't be desperately trying to wake him or her up at every opportunity. This time around I'll be happy to let sleeping babies lie.
To be fair, when Harry was born, some of my friends with children did try – politely of course – to warn me about this. “Don't wake him, just let him sleep,” they said. “He'll be awake all of the time soon enough.”
Of course I knew best and completely ignored them; after all, I wanted Harry to wake up so that I could show him off.
I've learned my lesson, though, so this time it will be a different kettle of fish. I am determined to make the most of any periods of calm as far as the baby is concerned, so there will be no waking up when visitors drop in.
In any case, we will have a demanding toddler to deal with as well so I doubt we'd get away with sitting around and cuddling the baby.
Meanwhile, the learning curve with Harry continues. Last weekend I learned that three-year-olds and decorating don't mix.
In my defence, trying to paint in a straight line while being attacked by a toddler is no easy task. As a result, it took a long time to complete what should have been a straightforward task. The finished job was, how can I put this, not quite up to scratch.
Not that Harry minded. He was more interested in leaving a trail of blue handprints around the house. Next time I get the paint out, I think Harry will have to visit nan and grandad's.
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.
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Mince pie
I could hear plenty of noise downstairs so I knew that something was going on. There was shouting, giggling, and the odd cross word from Melissa, usually followed by a bang and a crash.
When I picked up the courage to go into the kitchen, however, I wasn't expecting to be greeted by the sight of Harry sat on the table, covered from head to foot in flour and icing sugar.
“Come on daddy, you can help me with my cooking now,” he said, grinning widely. “I'm making mince pies.”
Melissa loves baking with Harry. Why, I'm not sure because the results are invariably extremely messy.
Anyway, Melissa had decided to make some mince pies, a task Harry had got stuck into by climbing on to the table, taking off his socks and grabbing a rolling pin.
By the time I arrived, it was chaos. As I say, there was flour and icing sugar everywhere, not to mention lumps of pastry flying around the room. Harry was busy cutting out shapes for the top of the mince pies, while Melissa was trying to contain as much of the mess as possible.
Remarkably, the end result was pretty tasty – in the circumstances just getting some mincemeat into the pastry cases was quite an achievement.
Anyway, the mince pies didn't last long when I took them into work. My colleagues might have been a little more reticent had they been there during the preparation but, as Terry the chef in Fawlty Towers once said, “What the eye don't see the chef gets away with.”
Aside from the chaos he creates when he's in the kitchen, Harry seems to have a bit of a talent for cooking. I think it might be a bit too soon to let him loose on the Christmas turkey just yet though.
When I picked up the courage to go into the kitchen, however, I wasn't expecting to be greeted by the sight of Harry sat on the table, covered from head to foot in flour and icing sugar.
“Come on daddy, you can help me with my cooking now,” he said, grinning widely. “I'm making mince pies.”
Melissa loves baking with Harry. Why, I'm not sure because the results are invariably extremely messy.
Anyway, Melissa had decided to make some mince pies, a task Harry had got stuck into by climbing on to the table, taking off his socks and grabbing a rolling pin.
By the time I arrived, it was chaos. As I say, there was flour and icing sugar everywhere, not to mention lumps of pastry flying around the room. Harry was busy cutting out shapes for the top of the mince pies, while Melissa was trying to contain as much of the mess as possible.
Remarkably, the end result was pretty tasty – in the circumstances just getting some mincemeat into the pastry cases was quite an achievement.
Anyway, the mince pies didn't last long when I took them into work. My colleagues might have been a little more reticent had they been there during the preparation but, as Terry the chef in Fawlty Towers once said, “What the eye don't see the chef gets away with.”
Aside from the chaos he creates when he's in the kitchen, Harry seems to have a bit of a talent for cooking. I think it might be a bit too soon to let him loose on the Christmas turkey just yet though.
Christmas chaos
IT'S remarkable how excited I was about a plate of mashed potato and baked beans.
But to see Harry tucking into his food after struggling with a stomach upset for more than a week was a great feeling. He'd barely eaten anything for four or five days and both Melissa and I were getting increasingly concerned at the amount of weight he'd lost.
Needless to say, Harry's illness did take some of the shine of Christmas. With him being off colour, Christmas Day was a more sedate affair than it would have been otherwise.
Having said that, I'm not sure Melissa or myself had enough energy to do anything else – with Harry being poorly, we hadn't been able to sleep properly so we were shattered too.
While it wasn't exactly the Christmas we had planned, we still had a good time. Harry was up at six on Christmas Day and the look on his face when he opened the living room door to see his new train set was magical. “Look dad, Father Christmas has left me a train set,” he shouted while hopping from one foot to the other with excitement.
I'd set the train set up on Christmas Eve – and, as usual, it had taken me a bit longer than anticipated. Needless to say, Melissa found the whole episode very amusing as I tried to decipher instructions that might as well have been written in a foreign language. Of course, it was worth it to see that reaction on Christmas Day.
By the end of the day, though Harry was absolutely exhausted – a combination of excitement and the effects of the virus – and he was asleep before six.
Unfortunately, yet another bout of sickness led to a trip to the out of hours service at the Maelor at half eleven that evening. We were worried about dehydration, but an extremely cheerful doctor reassured us after a thorough check that there was nothing to worry about. Thankfully, Harry seems to be over the worst of it now – and his appetite has certainly returned.
As I say, it may not have been the Christmas had planned, but I doubt we'll forget it in a hurry.
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.
Monday, 19 December 2011
Christmas excitement
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.
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.
Monday, 12 December 2011
Sleep tight
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.
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...
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.
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.
Friday, 25 November 2011
Honesty is the best policy
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.
“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.
Friday, 18 November 2011
Don't panic!
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.
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.
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