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.”
Tuesday, 10 April 2012
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.
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