Smile...

I’ve been trying to avoid sounding too gushing about my son, Harry, in this column.

There are a couple of reasons for this. Firstly, I don’t want my colleagues to think I’ve suddenly gone all soft – that would never do. Secondly, I have been known to complain about proud parents boring people with stories about their amazing offspring.

This week, though, I am going to sound gushing. The reason? Harry’s started to smile. He’s now nine weeks old and is starting to grow up – to my eyes at least – incredibly quickly.

Not only is he heavier – he was 13lb 7oz this week – his features are developing, including his eyebrows which are, apparently, already starting to resemble mine (‘slugs’, Melissa calls them).

Harry’s also started to stay awake between feeds and is now learning how to smile.

It’s an incredible experience watching your child smile at you for the first time. Admittedly it’s usually followed by a scream but, for those precious few seconds, all the usual worries associated with being a new parent disappear.

So trying to get Harry to smile has now become my favourite pastime (even Pro Evolution on the Xbox doesn’t get a look-in these days).

Unfortunately I’ve also discovered that generally he only responds when I talk in a ridiculously high-pitched voice and pull silly faces. Our poor postman must wonder what on earth is going on when he walks past the window.
Perhaps Harry’s doing it on purpose – making dad look silly might be his way of getting his own back for all that nappy changing.

Either way, being silly’s never been so much fun.

I'm late, I'm late

Until recently, I’d always wondered why my friends with children invariably turned up to engagements late. I must admit, I’d always assumed the ‘it was the kids’ line was simply an excuse for not getting ready on time.

Well, now I know different. Leaving the house is, thanks to Harry, a nightmare. Rather than just getting myself ready, I now have to dress Harry and this is not as simple as it sounds. When Melissa dresses him, he gurgles away happily. When I dress him, he screams.

By the time I’ve managed to get one arm in his jacket, he’s managed to kick off his trousers and boots and we’re almost back to square one.

Then, just when you think you’ve cracked it, Harry will suddenly stop screaming and look at you mischievously… and you just know he’s filled his nappy.

And that’s just the start of it. You still have to pack his bag – spare feeds, nappies, clothes, you name it – before trying to get him in his car seat or pram.

Honestly, I’m so exhausted by the time we’re ready to leave, I’m sometimes tempted to cancel. Trust me, the antenatal classes don’t prepare you for this.

Apparently, ‘it gets easier’ with practice. I certainly hope so. If not, I’d like to apologise now for being late for the next 16 years; it’s all Harry’s fault.

Sleeping well?

SINCE becoming a dad, everybody wants to know how much sleep I’m getting.
‘Are you getting much sleep at the moment?’ people ask, staring at me accusingly and checking the bags under my eyes. And – so far – I’m always pleased to report that I’m sleeping pretty well, thanks very much.
We’ve been lucky with Harry. He’s now content to go for up to six hours between feeds, which means we’re only getting up once during the night.
I have to say, that’s far better than I expected. The first couple of nights after Harry came out of hospital were tough. Melissa and I hardly slept – a combination of nervousness and excitement – and Harry seemed to pick up on this, crying for long periods.
Despite this, we were so worried about missing a feed that Melissa even set an alarm to wake us after six hours ‘just in case’.
Of course, there was no chance of sleeping six hours at that early stage and I began to understand how a combination of a lack of sleep, together with the weight of responsibility that comes with being a new parent, can make for a fractured atmosphere.
Fortunately, it didn’t last. Melissa discovered the benefits of dummies (or ‘soothers’ to give them their slightly more appealing trade name) and Harry suddenly began to settle more easily at night.
That’s not to say it’s easy, and some nights are certainly more difficult than others. Given the choice, of course I’d rather have eight hours of uninterrupted sleep but, until Harry decides otherwise, it’s simply not an option.
I wouldn’t change it for the world, though, even if it does mean looking just a little bit more tired than I did six months ago.

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.

Welcome, Harry

I know it's been a long time since my last post on here, but this time I've got an excuse - I've become a dad.

Harry Benjamin Wright was born at 12.59am on January 19, weighing in at 7lb 14ozs. It was an incredible experience (although I'm not sure Melissa would use quite those words) and I'm now busy attempting to get to grips with the finer points of parenthood.

Even now, nearly three weeks after Harry arrived, it hasn't sunk in properly. Everybody keeps telling me my life will never be the same and I can quite believe it. I do know this for certain, though, I wouldn't change it for the world.

Healthy living... you can keep it thanks

Two of my colleagues in work are currently on a healthy living mission. Quite frankly, it's depressing.

Since January 1, the two of them have been engaged in a challenge to lose weight and get fit. What's worse, they've set targets - one is aiming to lose a stone in a month, the other two stone.

As a result, they've eaten nothing but baked potatoes and fruit, and they've talked about nothing but exercise and calories. And they're not alone - almost everybody I talk to seems to be trying to get healthy at the moment.

This is all very worthy and we've all seen those adverts telling us that we're all doomed because we just sit in front of the television and eat takeaways.

But why January? I know it's the beginning of a new year and we're all feeling a little guilty about the number of mince pies we ate over Christmas, but January's already the most miserable month of the year - it's cold and dark, the festivities are behind you for another year and spring is still a long way off.

So why make it even more miserable by tiring yourself out with exercise and cutting down on unhealthy and, let's face it, good food. There's plenty of time for salad when the summer arrives...

I think they're trying to tell me something...

Well, Christmas has been and gone with it's usual selection of parties, over-indulgence and presents.

As I've said before, I love Christmas but this year my enthusiasm was somewhat dented by a recurring theme in the presents that people had bought me: namely, age-defying beauty products.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind using moisturiser after shaving. In fact Melissa has accused me - wrongly, I might add - of having more beauty products than she does.

Anyway, I was a little be concerned when, having grabbed my presents from Melissa on Christmas morning, I unwrapped several products which claim to 'firm up tired-looking skin' and 'visibly reduce the appearance of wrinkles'. This is not good as it means people - in this case Melissa - are starting to notice that I'm getting older.

My misery was compounded when I discovered mum and dad had bought me products from the same range. I mean, if my parents think I'm starting to look old, what hope is there?

Looking on the bright side, though, I've now got so many 'age-defying' products that if I use them all, I should look about 21 this time next year. Unfortunately, I doubt I'll feel like it.