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.”

Hospitals

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.

It's not always easy...

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.

Annoying new parents

I am suffering from annoying new parent syndrome. I can feel it gradually taking over me, but I'm powerless to do anything about it. As soon as somebody so much as asks how the 'little one' is (and, let's face it, most of the time these people are just being polite - we've all been there), I start rambling on about 'my Harry', how much feed he had last night, how he's grown, and so on. I mean, it's not as if I'm the first person this has happened to, is it?

So, here and now, I'd just like to apologise to all those people who have been affected in recent weeks. I should also like to thank my nan for gently pointing out the problem.

She may be 92 but she handled this delicate issue in a way that would have most management consultants reaching straight for their PDA. Rather than dive in with a direct 'please stop going on about being a parent, you're boring me', she presented me with a cutting from a newspaper which featured a columnist pleading with Chris Evans to stop talking about a being a new parent. There was no need for any discussion, the point had been made.

So, with that subtle warning in mind, I've decided to write a column about being a new dad (seriously). However, I promise to try and keep it interesting and, failing that, short.

By the way, while Melissa was in labour, I promised to say something nice about the midwives at the Wrexham Maelor hospital. They were all fantastic, particularly Alison Roberts and Laura who spent 12 hours helping bring Harry into the world while putting up with me hopping from one foot to the next and asking if everything was ok every two minutes. Thanks.