I’ve noticed something worrying in the last few weeks… I’m already becoming an embarrassing dad.
It’s not good. Throughout Melissa’s pregnancy, I vowed not to be one of those parents that bring shame upon their offspring. You know, the ones who talk in those loud, baby-like gurgling voices to their children. But you know what, that’s exactly what I’ve started to do.
What’s worse is that I don’t care who can hear me. I even caught myself doing it in a busy pub while grabbing a bite to eat during a day out in Llandudno. Poor Melissa looked mortified as a group of people standing at the bar turned round to watch as I tried to coax a smile from Harry by squeaking at him.
As I’ve said before, I’m sure Harry only responds because he enjoys seeing his dad making a fool of himself.
In any case, he’s certainly learning how to play his parents off against each other. The other night, Harry decided to have a bit of a scream. I tried to calm him down by walking around – and failed. Melissa took him off me and played with him while sitting on the sofa; he was smiling happily within seconds.
Half an hour later, Harry was screaming again so I took him back and finally managed to restore some tranquillity after marching around the house (upstairs, downstairs, the kitchen, garden, dining room) for about 15 minutes. As soon as I returned to the lounge and sat down, Harry screamed. The minute I stood up, he dropped off again.
Perhaps he’s getting his own back for having an embarrassing dad, but I can always play my trump card. Now where did I put my socks and sandals?
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