Talking sense

I'm sitting writing this waiting for Harry to go to sleep in the room next door.

At the moment, he's talking away to the various toys that share his bed, telling them about the day at the seaside he's just spent with my mum and dad.

And while I would like to go downstairs and get some tea, it’s lovely listening to him chatting away.

What it also does is reinforce how far his speech has come on since Christmas; he's now stringing long, often complicated sentences together, telling us about something that has happened or, more often, something that he wants to happen.

As my granddad said at the weekend, he's becoming a real little chatterbox. This is an understatement; Harry just doesn't stop talking.

He often surprises me by throwing a new word into conversation. The other day, for instance, he announced that we should go outside. "It's beautiful," he said, which isn't the sort of statement I'd expect to hear from a 28 month-old.

Of course, Harry's ability to pick up new words has its downsides, and we have to be careful what we say now because he's likely to repeat it, parrot-like. He's also picked up a couple of bad habits, including say "Eh?" when he doesn't quite catch what you've said. This is immediately followed by a reprimand from Melissa or myself, whereupon Harry looks sheepish and says "pardon".

Mind you, I was even more shocked the other day when I was sitting on the sofa when Harry tried to push past unsuccessfully. “Move big bottom, daddy,” he said. I was speechless.

If that's as bad as it gets, though, I think we'll have got away with it.
Anyway, he's just shouted "Daddy working on computer." I think that's my cue to go downstairs.

Locked in

I’ve got a confession to make: on Sunday Harry managed to lock me in the conservatory – and with Melissa sound asleep upstairs, I was stranded.

It all happened pretty quickly. Harry and I got up at about 7am, went down and ate breakfast in the kitchen before going through to the conservatory, which has an outside door with a lock on it.

After playing for about half an hour, Harry announced that he was going to fetch his tools from the dining room and promptly disappeared next door. I flicked on the television to watch the news headlines and settled back on the sofa, waiting for Harry to return.

Sure enough, a minute or two later, Harry appeared at the door, tools in hand, but instead of coming into the room he grinned and shut the door. Again, I thought nothing of it, until I heard the lock click.

I jumped up and immediately tried the door. To my dismay, it was locked – I’d foolishly left the key in – and I was trapped. Harry soon realised I was stuck and started shouting ‘Daddy’, while I tried to keep calm and explain how to go about unlocking the door.

Despite his best efforts, though, the door remained firmly locked while I frantically tried to work out how to escape.

I knew I could get outside but as both doors into the house were locked, it wouldn’t be much use. My last resort would have been the kitchen window, but it looked very small and I wasn’t convinced I would be able to squeeze through.

So, putting aside my dented pride, I decided to try a different tactic – getting Harry to wake Melissa. Harry responded brilliantly, running to the foot of the stairs and shouting “Mummy, help daddy, now!”

Five minutes later, a sleepy looking Melissa emerged – and immediately burst out laughing when she realised what had happened, although she later told me she’d panicked when she first heard Harry shouting, worrying that I had fallen and hurt myself.

Needless to say, the key will never be left in the lock again.

Christening chaos

Harry is turning out to be a bit of a singer. Clearly he doesn’t take after me; my singing career ended at the age six when I was dropped from the school choir after a particularly horrific rendition of ‘When I’m 64’.

Anyway, Harry sings at the slightest excuse, with Bob the Builder a particular favourite at the moment.

The words often get a bit jumbled, but the tune is always there. Harry’s even taken to banging away on Melissa’s piano and singing at the same time. As I say, he’s already a far more accomplished musician than I will ever be.

But my favourite musical moment so far came at a Christening last week.
Keeping Harry quiet had proved pretty difficult during the first part of the service, and we did get one or two disapproving glances from members of the congregation while we tried to keep the noise down by feeding him sandwiches and chocolate.

But we lost the battle well and truly when the priest got to the point in the ceremony where he lights a candle to symbolise turning towards the light. Harry stood up on the pew and started singing – at the top of his voice, of course – ‘Happy birthday to you’.

To be fair, one or two people giggled; several others frowned. Melissa and I were trying desperately to be serious, but it was impossible to keep a straight face.

When he’d finished singing, Harry gave himself a round of applause for good measure while we tried to get him to sit down quietly.

We’ve got another Christening next week – hopefully it will be an altogether quieter experience.

Potty training part two

Harry’s potty training is going very well, and we’re now getting out and about again.

Post-nappy life isn’t without its challenges though. For instance before leaving the house now, I have to spend five or ten minutes trying to persuade, then bribe (chocolate buttons seems to do the trick most effectively), Harry to have a wee. To Harry this is one big game of course, which doesn’t make things any easier.

Then there’s the need for speed when Harry announces he wants his potty. I took him for a fairly long walk the other day and he managed to use his potty three times during the trek. On the first occasion, I only just managed to get Harry and his potty out of the pushchair in time. Crouching down on the side of a busy A5 was a first for me, but it didn’t seem to bother Harry at all. In fact, the only tricky bit was getting Harry back into his pushchair afterwards.

Being outdoors is one thing, though, and I was far more nervous about what would happen when I took Harry to an indoor play area.

So when we went last week, I admit I did consider putting Harry in a pull-up nappy before venturing on to the play equipment. My main worry was that Harry would decide he wanted the toilet when we were stuck at the top of the equipment.

However, my conscience got the better of me, and we braved it without the nappy – and it all went surprisingly well. It did cost me a flapjack to get him to go to the toilet at one point, but I was able – smugly, of course – to report to Melissa that there had been no accidents.

So Harry has taken to potty training pretty well. So well, in fact, that when I put him to bed (in a nappy) the other night, 15 minutes later he was shouting ‘Daddy, wee wee, quick’ at the top of his voice. I couldn’t ignore him obviously, but I’m sure this was just another part of Harry’s game.

Charge!

Harry, like all youngsters, can get a bit carried away when he’s enjoying himself.

The other day, for instance, I arrived home to find him sat at the kitchen table painting. Two minutes later, I was sat next to him, joining in the fun. Everything was going well until I decided to lean over and paint on Harry’s piece of paper. He looked at me, help up his hand and said: “Stop daddy, Harry’s paper.”

I should, with hindsight, have left it at that. I didn’t of course, and leaned over to paint on his paper again. Five minutes later my face was covered in paint as Harry decided to put a stop to my interference once and for all. As Melissa said afterwards, it was my fault for antagonising him.

I also managed to cause trouble when we visited Chirk Castle. We had a great time running around the grounds, and Harry was particularly taken with the soldiers guarding the entrance to the castle with their pikestaffs.

Interest in history, I thought, should be encouraged, so I bought Harry a sword and helmet. I then taught him to shout “charge” and chase me. Unfortunately, Harry decided that charging at strangers with his sword raised would be much more entertaining than chasing dad.

There was one uncomfortable moment when Harry decided to attack two elderly ladies. Fortunately, I managed to grab him – much to his disgust – before any damage was done.

In the end, I convinced Harry that it was better to charge while sitting on my shoulders, which may not have been historically accurate, but was certainly safer for the other visitors. In future, though, I think I’ll concentrate on games that don’t involve swords.

First name terms

Harry is a handful. From the minute he wakes up, to the moment he closes his eyes at night, he’s a bundle of energy that just doesn’t stop.

Our strategy to cope with all this energy is simple: tire him out. At the moment, this means spending as much time as possible in the garden taking part in Harry’s favourite activity – digging.

The other day, I went to get him when he woke up in the morning and his first words to me were: “Daddy, digging, outside. Now.”

He certainly likes being outdoors, although the lovely weather we’ve been enjoying lately means Melissa and I often have to chase him around the garden with the suntan lotion, which can get a bit messy. Believe me, hanging on to a determined two-year-old who’s been smothered in sun cream is a lot more difficult than it sounds.

As well as his boundless energy, Harry’s also got a wicked sense of humour. On Sunday, we were messing about in the front room and I was tickling him when he suddenly shouted: “Stop it Martin.” Now I had heard him call me Martin a couple of days earlier, but on that occasion he was just copying his mum; this time, though, it was completely unprompted.

Melissa burst out laughing, while I was left momentarily speechless. Of course, as soon as he realised he’d said something funny, Harry kept calling me Martin over and over again. His comic timing was spot on.

And it’s not just me – he’s taken to calling Melissa’s dad Terry and my dad Colin, and I’m convinced it’s just to get a laugh. Goodness knows what’s next, but we’re going to have to be very careful what we say in future.

Potty training

Soon after Harry was born, a friend told me that life as a parent was a constant challenge. Just when you think you’re on top of things, she said, everything changes.

I’ve often thought of that statement since and it came to mind immediately we started potty training. Now I was dreading potty training, mainly because I hadn’t got a clue what to do.

Fortunately, Melissa was far more organised and had come up with a plan to kick things off. Essentially, this plan meant not leaving our house for several days to get Harry into the swing of using the potty without any distractions.

As it turned out, the first couple of days were as challenging as expected; eleven pairs of pants the first day, and about eight the second. I’ll admit to being slightly relieved at having to go to work. By the time I arrived home, Melissa – understandably – looked completely drained.

After that, however, things started to improve markedly and the number of accidents has now fallen to just one or two a day.

After four days of training, Melissa had to work and it was my turn to look after Harry – which did cause me some anxious moments. I must have asked him if he needed his potty at least once every five minutes and, by the end of the day, poor old Harry was looking at me in frustration saying: “No, not now daddy.”

Anyway, the warm weather meant we were at least able to play outside and Harry surprised me by taking to using his potty in the open air straight away. It means we’ve been able to spend hours on end in the garden, which is now looking very tidy this year as a result.

Two weeks on, and we’re able to get out and about – with the potty going everywhere with us, of course. There is the odd accident now and again, but it’s not half as bad as I thought it would be. Long car journeys are still a worry, but I’m sure we’ll get there somehow.