Sleeping - again

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.

Bonding?

Like all new parents, I want to form a strong father-and-son bond with Harry. However, I think my efforts in this direction have suffered a bit of a knock in recent weeks.

Firstly, I went along to the doctor’s with Harry for his second round of injections. Melissa had taken Harry for his first set a few weeks earlier and he was, by all accounts, pretty upset at the whole experience.

So this time, I went along as well. By the time we’d walked to the surgery, Harry was fast asleep, so you can imagine the nasty shock he got when he woke up to find a smiling nurse jabbing a long needle into the top of his leg. Poor Harry looked heartbroken and, judging by the look in his eyes, he didn’t think much of me for allowing it to happen.

Anyway, I’ve since spent plenty of time trying to rebuild Harry’s trust in me – only to undermine all the good work by taking him swimming.

Things started pretty well. We took Harry to Plas Madoc for the excellent parent and paddler session on a Sunday morning. We bought the necessary inflatable, popped Harry in it and he seemed quite happy bobbing up and down in the water.

Then the wave machine started; Harry was almost instantly submerged by a wave which caught both of us by surprise. Fortunately, Melissa was on hand to pick up the pieces and Harry was soon back to his smiling self – albeit with his trust in me once again thoroughly undermined.

We’re definitely going to persist with the swimming, though, because Harry did seem to enjoy it for the most part. Next time, when the wave machine siren goes, I’ll be a little more careful.

Cold shoulder

I am suffering at the moment. Not in a particularly serious way, but suffering nonetheless. The culprit is another bout of cold/flu.

I hate being ill. And I'm not very good at it - just ask Melissa. When I'm ill - which thankfully isn't too often - I just want to sleep, which isn't great at the moment considering the festive season is about to get under way in earnest. And if I can't sleep, I'm even more irritable and irrational than usual. Like most men, I also feel sorry for myself which does nothing to lighten the mood.

So, having hardly slept last night, and having been irritable and irrational in work all day, I'm planning to head home in a minute and go straight to sleep in the hope that I'll be back to my usual sunny disposition when I wake up. Well, sunny-ish maybe.