First steps...

LAST Sunday encapsulated what being a parent is all about: it can give you a feeling of pure joy that is unmatched by anything I’ve ever experienced (I know it sounds gushing, but it’s the truth); it can also leave you stressed worried and shattered. And that’s what happened last weekend.

Things started off in remarkable fashion - Harry took his first step. Melissa and I were sat on the sofa with mugs of tea enjoying a lazy Sunday morning. Harry was playing on the floor when he decided to stand up. On this occasion, though, he didn’t just sit down again - he stepped towards us.

Melissa and I looked at each other in shock – we simply weren’t expecting it. It was an incredible moment, and I’m absolutely delighted I was there to witness it.

Of course, we spent the rest of the day hoping he would do it again. He did, once.

Anyway, I put him to bed feeling on top of the world. It didn’t last.

Harry had been starting a cold on Sunday but he’d been happy enough despite a runny nose. However, after sleeping for a couple of hours, he woke and I couldn’t get him to drop off again.

I walked him round the house, sang to him, played with him, even allowed him to watch In The Night Garden, but it didn’t work.

Harry’s had colds before but I’d never seen him so upset for so long – he simply wouldn’t settle. Eventually I gave in and took him into our bed. As usual, he wanted to cuddle his mum but he would not drop off to sleep.

It meant Melissa and I managed to get about an hour’s sleep on Sunday night, leaving us completely shattered the following morning. Melissa then spent the day looking after a very unhappy, poorly baby – she was certainly pleased to see me when I returned from work on Monday night.

But although Sunday was a real up and down day, it didn’t take the shine off seeing Harry’s first steps; that’s something I’ll never forget.