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.

All smiles

NOT long after Harry was born, a friend said to me: “If you think being a parent's good now, wait until Harry's two or three, when he's talking.”

At the time, I didn't think things could get any better; now I understand exactly what my friend meant.

Harry is able to articulate his emotions more clearly than ever. This morning, as I was about to leave for work, he said to me with an earnest expression on his face: “I don't want you to go to work ever Daddy. Ever, ever, ever. I want you to stay here with me.”

I felt guilty all day.

Of course the reverse is true when I arrive home. I'm welcomed in a blur of limbs and excited chattering, as Harry attempts to relate the events of the day in about two minutes.

I've also noticed that this welcome is even warmer if Harry's just had a telling off from his mum.

But perhaps the best welcome was at his swimming class a couple of weeks ago.
I finished work early and was able to sneak into the back of the viewing gallery at Waterworld to watch the second half of the lesson.

About five minutes before the end of the lesson, Harry spotted me. The smile he gave was fantastic, all the more so because it was completely natural (unlike some of the smiles he gives – particularly when he wants his own way).

He beamed at me for the remainder of the class and ran straight over to me when it finished. Despite getting soaking wet, I felt about 50 foot tall. If there's a better feeling in the world, then I've yet to discover it.