Pride... and a fall

I can't help feeling a bit sorry for James. When Harry was born, he had our undivided attention and everything he did was scrutinised and celebrated by Melissa and myself. James, on the other hand, has to fit in to what feels like a very hectic household and that means I rarely have the time to just sit there and marvel at him.

And whereas we have literally hundreds of pictures of Harry, we've probably only taken about half that number of James.

I'm sure this is not uncommon for second-time parents. Now that we're a family of four, finding a spare five minutes seems to be practically impossible.

Having said all of that, I do really enjoy the odd moments of peace and quiet when they do crop up. The other night, Melissa was out and I'd taken Harry up to bed, while James was in a particularly happy mood. He is a very smiley baby (except when he's hungry, obviously) and we sat for what must have been about half an hour just playing about. It was fantastic; James just gurgled and smile happily while I babbled away with him. I don't think there is any more effective a stress reliever than ten minutes in the company of a happy baby.

To cap a perfect night, when Melissa returned I was able to report (maybe just a little bit smugly) that Harry had gone to bed like a little angel, James was fast asleep, I'd washed up the dishes and tidied away Harry's toys. I'd even started to read a book – and that hasn't happened for months on end.

But as my nan always says, pride comes before a fall and this was certainly the case last Saturday when Melissa was out and my only task was to dress Harry and James and get them into the car. After an hour and a half of chaos – including chasing Harry around the house while simultaneously trying to stop James screaming – we finally left the house. I'm sure I aged five years in one morning.

Sentimental

MY MUM has still got all of our schoolbooks, reports and various other memorabilia from our schooldays stashed away in her loft.

Given that she's got four children, there's quite a bit of the stuff. I've always thought this is a ridiculous waste of space. I mean, why on earth would you want to keep a school report? Sentimental nonsense.

Now, however, I have changed my view. On Tuesday, there was a ceremony at Chirk Playgroup where every child was presented with a book about their time at the group. Each book was individual, containing pictures and words detailing how they had progressed since joining.

A huge amount of effort has obviously gone into this document and, at the risk of sounding like a pushy parent, reading about Harry's development since starting in September last year makes me incredibly proud.

When Harry first started at the playgroup, he was quite shy and for the first month or two, Melissa stayed with him because he became upset if she left. Since then, he has undergone a complete transformation – he loves going to playgroup and has turned into a very confident little boy.

As if to illustrate the point, he performed a solo ('I can sing a rainbow') at the presentation ceremony, which I was lucky enough to attend. It took quite a bit of restraint not to stand up and cheer him on.

For the first time, I can understand why mum has kept all of our books from school. Being sentimental comes with the territory.

Keep quiet... impossible!

Trying to keep Harry quiet is practically impossible. And since James was born, his volume has, if anything, increased.

This became painfully obvious at the weekend when James was Christened at St Mary's in Chirk. Trying to explain why it's important to be quiet in church is not easy and the harder we tried to keep Harry quiet, the louder he got.

To begin with, Harry was very good and sat quietly. However, after the first hymn he decided that he'd had enough of being quiet and started to talk loudly. Then he decided he was going to sing nursery rhymes.

Glares from Melissa and myself didn't do the trick and neither did whispered warnings through gritted teeth. By the time the second hymn started, Harry was singing London's Burning at the top of his voice. Thankfully the vicar, Rev Tony Rees, was unperturbed, even when Harry announced loudly that he needed the toilet and had to be hurried away quickly by Melissa's sister.

In contrast, James was perfectly behaved throughout, sleeping during the first part of the service before waking up just in time for the baptism itself and - surprisingly - resisting the temptation to shout when the vicar poured water on his forehead. Instead, he just looked quizzically at the vicar as if to say: “What on earth are you doing?”

Of course, it will be a different matter in a couple of years time when I fully expect James to be every bit as loud as Harry. I think I might invest in a set of earplugs.

Buckingham Palace

I'm not very popular with Melissa at the moment. Why? Because in last week's column I wrote, prematurely as it turns out, that James was now sleeping through the night.

Since the article appeared in the Leader, James has woken in the middle of the night every day. It turns out this is my fault for tempting fate.

To be fair to James, I think this is down to the fact that he has had a bit of a cold which has made him a bit grumpy. I don't know if this is a proper cold or the result of his first set of injections but he's not been himself at all.

At least Harry was about to lift the mood. The other day, Harry was downstairs while Melissa, James and myself were upstairs.

I shouted down to Harry to make sure he was ok. “I'm fine dad,” came the reply. “I'm just watching this programme about Buckingham Palace.” I immediately went down to find out what he was really doing. He was sat on the sofa, arms folded, watching BBC Breakfast which was broadcasting from Buckingham Palace. Harry certainly has the ability to surprise.

Mind you, he's not exactly an angel all of the time. The other day, he managed to destroy a new shirt when he decided to experiment with his scissors while doing some cutting out at the kitchen table.

And that's not the only problem we've had with clothing in recent days. In preparation for school, we've been teaching how to dress himself and, obviously, get undressed. This had been going quite well until last week when Harry decided to strip in the front room before clambering up on to the windowsill – stark naked – waving at passers by.

Dad not daddy

THERE have been two fairly major developments in recent days. The first was not exactly unexpected but was certainly welcome: James sleeping through the night for the first time.

It was not exactly a lie-in (5.30am) but having six hours of uninterrupted sleep was such a treat I felt like doing a little jig of celebration

To put things in perspective, James has been a very good baby at night from the start. Until last week he was feeding once in the night (usually about 4am) but almost without exception he would go back to sleep within the hour, with a minimum of fuss. The following day, it was 5am and that has been the pattern ever since. In an ideal world, I'd like him to sleep until 7 but for the time being and, given that he's only 13 weeks old, I'll settle for 5.

All of this is in stark contrast to our experience with Harry; I can remember pacing around the house with him in the early hours of the morning, desperately trying to settle him after a feed. The thought of having six hours uninterrupted sleep was a distant dream!

The other major development has been that Harry has, quite unexpectedly, started calling me 'dad' rather than 'daddy'. While this may seem a fairly insignificant change, I have found it a bit of a shock, not least because it makes Harry sound so much more grown up. It has also made me feel a bit long in the tooth.

I first noticed it while we were on holiday and I thought it was just a freak occurrence. However, it's continued ever since.

I'm still not used to it which means I'll often ignore Harry's demands for my attention. This is fine in the house, but a bit embarrassing when we're out and about and to the rest of the world it just looks like I'm ignoring my son.

Interestingly, he still calls Melissa 'mummy' rather than 'mum'. When that changes we'll know he's definitely a little boy rather than our baby.

Harry down the mine

We've just returned from a week's stay in a caravan at the Haven site in Pwllheli.

Although the weather forecast was bleak, we somehow managed to avoid most of the rain which meant we weren't stuck indoors all week. Harry in particular had a fantastic time and literally ran himself into the ground every day.

A combination of playing on the beach, running around the adventure playground and swimming left him flat out by half six every evening. We didn't see him again until half six the following morning when he would spring out of bed ready to do it all again.

On the Wednesday, we woke to a serious thunderstorm (so serious you could feel the caravan shake every time it thundered) so I took Harry to Blaenau Ffestiniog for a trip down Llechwedd Slate Caverns.

To be honest, that trip was as much for me as it was for Harry – I remember going there when I was younger and being amazed at the size of those underground chambers.

Initially, Harry was impressed. Then, about half way through our first tour, Harry needed the toilet. While the guide related the story of the mines, I tried in vain to stop Harry shouting “I need a wee” at the top of his voice. It got to the point where he was actually hopping from one leg to the other because he was so desperate. Anyway, he managed to hold on and, undeterred, I pressed on with a second tour, this time down the deep mine.

At first I thought this was a terrible mistake. We had only just stepped off the train when Harry said he wanted his mummy. However, he soon forgot about his mum when he realised he could explore the tunnels instead.

I think Harry enjoyed himself and I certainly did, even if there were a couple of fraught moments. And whether Harry likes it or not, I've got plenty more trips like that one lined up already.

A good imagination

Harry certainly has a vivid imagination. This has become increasingly obvious as he's grown up.

When he's playing by himself, you can hear him chattering away, making up stories about what's happening. When he's playing with his trains, for instance, you will often hear him repeating elements of stories about Thomas the Tank that we have read to him. I find the whole thing fascinating and I'm constantly surprised at how much he remembers.

At other times, his imagination can be a little bit difficult to keep up with. For a while, he was constantly talking about his friend John. Apparently, this friend has silver hair, silver eyes and lives in Wrexham. If you see anyone matching that description, can you let me know as Harry tells me he's building a conservatory for him.

Harry's also fond of taking the clothes airers off the radiators and pushing them around the house, pretending that they're lawn mowers. Not only does this play havoc with the carpet, it can also be extremely painful if Harry catches your ankles.

After one such incident, I asked Harry why he was playing with the clothes airers. “It's my lawn mower daddy,” he replied. “But it's not a lawn mower, it's a clothes airer,” I pointed out a bit sharply rubbing a bruised ankle.

“Don't be silly,” he replied in a manner that suggested he was speaking to, well, a three-year-old. “It's only a pretend lawn mower daddy.”