In a past life I used to work for a Children's Centre and we ran a number of play groups for parents and their children. I say parents. I mean mums. The vast majority of adults that attended these groups were of the female persuasion.
I always stood out. It took me a long time to feel comfortable walking in, and I was a worker. I cannot imagine how difficult it was for those dads who also had to contend with feeling like they were being watched and judged. I don't think they were, but I can imagine that is how they felt.
Now as a parent I have been into those groups but that is as a parent who is used to being in those environments. What I have enjoyed the most, though, is the monthly group just for dads and their children that I attend.
Once a month a group of us gather in a church hall to have tea, a bacon bap and a catch up.It is the best Saturday of my month and everyone is a winner! My wife gets a break (brownie points in the bank), our kids get to have a play and we get to be dads en masse.
Groups like this, in my opinion, are vital. As a society traditional roles and support networks have eroded which has left some isolated and unsure of what to do. Groups such as this offer a place to belong, to talk and to share the common experience of fatherhood. The problem is that they are few and far between.
There are only a handful of organisations (Dangerous Dads, Who Let The Dads Out?) that deal with dads specifically. Most children's centres have stopped their dads groups and only run universal services but despite the workers' intentions these are rarely easy for dads to get to, particularly if they are working dads.
If you are able to get to one - go along. If not - get in touch with a local venue and set one up. Grab some mates with kids, and just start something. It will probably grow and it may become a major source of support for someone else who might be struggling. Membership of a group is so important, for both physical and mental health. When you become a parent it is sometimes hard to maintain the membership of pre-child groups so look for ways to engage in new groups.
Those monthly Saturdays are one way that I do it and I cannot recommend it highly enough.
Tuesday, 20 February 2018
Sunday, 14 January 2018
Second child syndrome
In the past week Toby has eaten pizza, oven chips and cake. A couple of weeks ago he had custard. A little time before that he had a jar of baby food despite us never having given Henry anything (until completely weaned) that we had not prepared ourselves from scratch.
My mother-in-law told me often when we were controlling what Henry ate "it's so much harder with the next one, they see what their older sibling is eating and they want it".
Oooo...it pisses me off when she is right.
Toby will now sit in his highchair like some toothless despot screaming at us if we have the temerity to have something on our plate that he does not also have smeared across his tray. Tonight's source of fury?
Some lettuce. Lettuce!
So I tore a leaf off and threw it at him. Perhaps with more force than was strictly necessary but luckily it was only lettuce. Good job I wasn't eating a baked potato. Or a pie. Or the plate.
Once dinner was finished, and we had completed the ritual of letting him mash whatever is in his bowl into a pulp, then spoon whatever we can scrape from between his fingers/down the side of his chair/off the carpet into his mouth because he has now realised he is hungry and cannot actually feed himself, I had some cake.
ROAR!
(which I believe is baby-speak for "excuse me, father, would you be so kind as to share a morsel of that simply delicious looking baked delicacy that you appear to be consuming with some gusto?")
It was some homemade banana and chocolate loaf that had been made by Em. Henry did not have chocolate until his first birthday. So I picked out all the visible chunks of chocolate and lobbed a mouthful of cake at him. Again, perhaps with a little more enthusiasm that many would have deemed necessary but I was enjoying it and had been looking forward to finishing it!
There really is a difference in what becomes acceptable for the second child. Toby has been exposed to television (we didn't even own one until Henry was two), to some questionable dietary choices (I still feel a bit guilty about the pizza), to hand-me-downs, to Henry (a thoroughly adoring but somewhat exuberant big brother) and to loud music (he now regularly falls asleep in the middle of our bed to whichever awful pop-playlist Em is tidying up to).
I do wonder if we are going to make it until May before we sell our souls completely and stick him in a chocolate fountain. And whether or not I should just stick some whisky in his beaker and get a good night's sleep.
My mother-in-law told me often when we were controlling what Henry ate "it's so much harder with the next one, they see what their older sibling is eating and they want it".
Oooo...it pisses me off when she is right.
Toby will now sit in his highchair like some toothless despot screaming at us if we have the temerity to have something on our plate that he does not also have smeared across his tray. Tonight's source of fury?
Some lettuce. Lettuce!
So I tore a leaf off and threw it at him. Perhaps with more force than was strictly necessary but luckily it was only lettuce. Good job I wasn't eating a baked potato. Or a pie. Or the plate.
Once dinner was finished, and we had completed the ritual of letting him mash whatever is in his bowl into a pulp, then spoon whatever we can scrape from between his fingers/down the side of his chair/off the carpet into his mouth because he has now realised he is hungry and cannot actually feed himself, I had some cake.
ROAR!
(which I believe is baby-speak for "excuse me, father, would you be so kind as to share a morsel of that simply delicious looking baked delicacy that you appear to be consuming with some gusto?")
It was some homemade banana and chocolate loaf that had been made by Em. Henry did not have chocolate until his first birthday. So I picked out all the visible chunks of chocolate and lobbed a mouthful of cake at him. Again, perhaps with a little more enthusiasm that many would have deemed necessary but I was enjoying it and had been looking forward to finishing it!
There really is a difference in what becomes acceptable for the second child. Toby has been exposed to television (we didn't even own one until Henry was two), to some questionable dietary choices (I still feel a bit guilty about the pizza), to hand-me-downs, to Henry (a thoroughly adoring but somewhat exuberant big brother) and to loud music (he now regularly falls asleep in the middle of our bed to whichever awful pop-playlist Em is tidying up to).
I do wonder if we are going to make it until May before we sell our souls completely and stick him in a chocolate fountain. And whether or not I should just stick some whisky in his beaker and get a good night's sleep.
Friday, 12 January 2018
A Christmas tail
I came to the realisation this year that I think the Christmas tail was now wagging the dog. I no longer feel in control of Christmas. Budgeting is a dim and distant memory; not it is an orgy of excess and some 'responsibility-driven' purchasing.
"Oh we must buy for Aunt Fanny because she will get something for us."
No, no, no, NO!!!
This has to stop and I have made it my resolution this year to not be controlled by the feeling that we need to buy for others.
We have a set of friends that we have an annual Christmas tradition of going on one of the steam trains to see Father Christmas. I would much rather have an agreement with my friends to do no presents, but instead to create a memory, have an experience.
I have begun to talk about this with some of our friends and so far received universal agreement. Children seem to get overwhelmed by all the presents they receive these days, and the day can become about opening presents rather than the gift itself. It takes a lot of work as a parent to restrain a child's exuberance and connect them with the fact somebody has taken the time to get them something.
Inevitably, and through nothing but the best of intentions from friends and family, you are left with a pile of gifts that are not wanted. Appreciated but not wanted. They might not fit, or might not last, or simply might not be to somebody's taste. There is no criticism it is just the way of the world. I do not want any of my friends to feel they have wasted their money, in the same way that I do not want them feeling like they have to make use of whatever it is we have got them or their children.
So next year I am hoping for a slimmed down Christmas. It is a cliche but one that I think is particularly important to hold on to:
Rather than presents from people, I want their presence in creating memories together.
Henry will have fewer presents, but hopefully will be able to appreciate them more. I certainly do not want his idea of Christmas to be one that is represented by a sea of presents.
Wish me luck.
"Oh we must buy for Aunt Fanny because she will get something for us."
No, no, no, NO!!!
This has to stop and I have made it my resolution this year to not be controlled by the feeling that we need to buy for others.
We have a set of friends that we have an annual Christmas tradition of going on one of the steam trains to see Father Christmas. I would much rather have an agreement with my friends to do no presents, but instead to create a memory, have an experience.
I have begun to talk about this with some of our friends and so far received universal agreement. Children seem to get overwhelmed by all the presents they receive these days, and the day can become about opening presents rather than the gift itself. It takes a lot of work as a parent to restrain a child's exuberance and connect them with the fact somebody has taken the time to get them something.
Inevitably, and through nothing but the best of intentions from friends and family, you are left with a pile of gifts that are not wanted. Appreciated but not wanted. They might not fit, or might not last, or simply might not be to somebody's taste. There is no criticism it is just the way of the world. I do not want any of my friends to feel they have wasted their money, in the same way that I do not want them feeling like they have to make use of whatever it is we have got them or their children.
So next year I am hoping for a slimmed down Christmas. It is a cliche but one that I think is particularly important to hold on to:
Rather than presents from people, I want their presence in creating memories together.
Henry will have fewer presents, but hopefully will be able to appreciate them more. I certainly do not want his idea of Christmas to be one that is represented by a sea of presents.
Wish me luck.
Tuesday, 12 December 2017
Article for The Green Parent competition
Picture
the scene.
A father is carrying a screaming child who he has wrapped up in front of him from one end of the garden of a busy tourist attraction to the car park. It is a distance of no more than two hundred metres. It feels much further to the father. The child, who you might guess to be around the age of four, is crying out that the father is hurting him, despite it appearing, at least to the casual observer, to be a firm but non-restrictive hold.
Some older passers-by wince, who knows whether it is from empathy or judgement of the father’s inability to control the child. The younger ones wonder whether filming this would get some hits on social media.
"That would never be our child" thinks one father. "Oh...wait. This is my child. I am that parent. Bugger."
I thought we had some tantrums during the terrible twos and threes and I had begun to parent with a certain air of smugness. Parenting is easy when you just focus on the good stuff and make it fun. I used to make comments like the following regularly:
"Yeah, he's had some tantrums, but nothing too bad."
Smug sod. I hate past-me.
Henry has, at times, very clearly demonstrated to my wife and I that we are not in control and we are nothing like as good at this parenting thing as we thought we were. He has put on some real barnstormers for us. On two occasions I have worried that the incident might end in a rotating head and a room decorated in a lovely shade of pea soup. There is a Richter scale for earthquakes, I would like to propose the Sullivan scale for tantrums.
A father is carrying a screaming child who he has wrapped up in front of him from one end of the garden of a busy tourist attraction to the car park. It is a distance of no more than two hundred metres. It feels much further to the father. The child, who you might guess to be around the age of four, is crying out that the father is hurting him, despite it appearing, at least to the casual observer, to be a firm but non-restrictive hold.
Some older passers-by wince, who knows whether it is from empathy or judgement of the father’s inability to control the child. The younger ones wonder whether filming this would get some hits on social media.
"That would never be our child" thinks one father. "Oh...wait. This is my child. I am that parent. Bugger."
I thought we had some tantrums during the terrible twos and threes and I had begun to parent with a certain air of smugness. Parenting is easy when you just focus on the good stuff and make it fun. I used to make comments like the following regularly:
"Yeah, he's had some tantrums, but nothing too bad."
Smug sod. I hate past-me.
Henry has, at times, very clearly demonstrated to my wife and I that we are not in control and we are nothing like as good at this parenting thing as we thought we were. He has put on some real barnstormers for us. On two occasions I have worried that the incident might end in a rotating head and a room decorated in a lovely shade of pea soup. There is a Richter scale for earthquakes, I would like to propose the Sullivan scale for tantrums.
1
– a sulky look
2
– a stamp of the foot; sometimes accompanied by a huffy breath
3
– a flushed face, anything close by likely to be thrown; generally,
a vocal rejection of whatever is being asked of the child. If in
public, those within earshot are likely to look.
4
– a red face which is directly proportional to how big the ensuing
explosion will be; frequently, characterised by the statement “I
hate you”; tremors continue to be felt for up to two hours
afterwards. If in public, some people are likely to comment, or tut
loudly.
5
– it is time to find a bunker and look to the sky for four horsemen
as the Apocalypse has arrived and I wish you luck. Hopefully, your
will is up to date.
And here is the really difficult part to accept as a parent. No matter how patient you might be, how good your distractions might be, how much you ignore the bad and how focussed you are on the good – children are little people. Who get tired. And they cannot be controlled.
You cannot control anyone, you can only control yourself and how you react to others. You can attempt to create conditions that give the illusion of control, but really all you are hoping and praying for is that the child makes the choice that you want. And in this period of development, sometimes, he or she just thinks:
"To hell with what you want. I am an individual! A small, tired, incredibly vocal individual! Hear me roar!"
And all that is left for you as a parent is to weather the storm and pick up the sobbing pieces afterwards. Because once the storm has blown itself out you are left with a very vulnerable, upset little child that does not really understand what just happened and needs reassurance that everything is ok in the world. This is parenting. I do not believe there is any answer in a pill, gadget or supplement. If anything modern life has blurred our understanding of these difficulties and confused our instincts. Parenting is an ongoing balancing act between the needs and expectations of the both of you. As an adult, I believe, it completely exposes what is at the core of who you are as a person. That core is not immutable but little will change if you are not aware of how it influences your every decision.
And here is the really difficult part to accept as a parent. No matter how patient you might be, how good your distractions might be, how much you ignore the bad and how focussed you are on the good – children are little people. Who get tired. And they cannot be controlled.
You cannot control anyone, you can only control yourself and how you react to others. You can attempt to create conditions that give the illusion of control, but really all you are hoping and praying for is that the child makes the choice that you want. And in this period of development, sometimes, he or she just thinks:
"To hell with what you want. I am an individual! A small, tired, incredibly vocal individual! Hear me roar!"
And all that is left for you as a parent is to weather the storm and pick up the sobbing pieces afterwards. Because once the storm has blown itself out you are left with a very vulnerable, upset little child that does not really understand what just happened and needs reassurance that everything is ok in the world. This is parenting. I do not believe there is any answer in a pill, gadget or supplement. If anything modern life has blurred our understanding of these difficulties and confused our instincts. Parenting is an ongoing balancing act between the needs and expectations of the both of you. As an adult, I believe, it completely exposes what is at the core of who you are as a person. That core is not immutable but little will change if you are not aware of how it influences your every decision.
I
was fortunate to attend a mindfulness course a couple of years ago.
It was not about parenting; it was about me. At the time I was going
through a particularly dark patch. My son had been born months after
my father died and I never really got the chance to grieve.
Unfortunately, I did not know how to cope differently and I buried
the sorrow. Instead, to the best of my ability at the time, I
prioritised my new family unit in its infancy. It was hard, so very
hard. I had been close to my dad and now as I was taking my first
steps on my fatherhood journey I did not have the man I would have
turned to talk about my worries and joys. Mindfulness opened a door
for me to greater insight and reflection. It did not make things
better there and then, but it did make me stop and take note of how I
was feeling, where I was in the moment. Who I was. I realised that
as my son was getting taller, my patience was getting shorter. Our
relationship was souring but there was only one person I could hold
accountable.
I
look back on those first few years of parenting and I believe I coped
relatively well. For the most part, we are all trying to do the best
we can with the resources, both internal and external, that we have
available. What has struck me is how easy it is to begin to blame
the external world for your internal issues. I had had always had a
great relationship with my son but it had begun to sour. He was not
as happy as he had been and we were getting caught in cycles of
tantrums and sanctions. Until this point I had blamed others for my
low mood, for being short-tempered and cutting with my remarks, but I
could not blame him. I am a firm believer that children are mostly
the products of their experiences, with parents mostly in control of
those experiences. This led me to the realisation that I could not
blame him for the state of our relationship, only myself.
The
most important lesson I took from mindfulness and this time of my
life was this:
Parent
– know thyself.
A simple proposition but one that is so very difficult in practice yet could not be more important. Acknowledging we are human is not something we do often enough as parents. I am very lucky to have my wife, close family and friends, some of whom have children of a similar age that we can share stories with, offload and seek advice without fear of judgement. I dread to think what it would be like without them and I appreciate them every day.
A simple proposition but one that is so very difficult in practice yet could not be more important. Acknowledging we are human is not something we do often enough as parents. I am very lucky to have my wife, close family and friends, some of whom have children of a similar age that we can share stories with, offload and seek advice without fear of judgement. I dread to think what it would be like without them and I appreciate them every day.
Without
these people around me it would be so easy to get caught in a vicious
cycle with my sons (a second has recently arrived) where we feed each
other's frustration. I strive to remember that I have the power
in our relationship, despite how powerless he is able to make me
feel. The trick to parenting, I believe, is to secure their world
and put aside, for the moment, everything that may have been
triggered in you. The lack of control, the frustration, the guilt
and, I will admit it, the anger. Once you can acknowledge that those
come from within, you can get back to being what your child needs you
to be: the filter through which they come to experience and
understand the world. Most importantly you will show them what
experiencing those emotions means, and how they can manage them. When
it goes wrong (because it will – you’re human!) there is space in
my bunker, I’ll pour you a drink.
Friday, 4 November 2016
A tiny announcement...grape sized.
Number 2 is on its way!
The wife and I had our 12 week scan last Friday and thus we can announce to the world the hopeful May arrival. We were feeling like life had gotten a bit stale since reliably getting seven to eight hours of sleep a night and thought we'd mix it up a bit.
Henry, as expected, has been amazing. He is delighted at the prospect of being a big brother and has predicted he is going to have a baby sister. Since finding out he has spoken to and kissed the baby every day. Heart-meltingly adorable! He even took a scan photo into school today to show his class. We could not be prouder of him and we are absolutely sure he will make an awesome big brother.
Which is good, because I have no idea how we are going to cope parenting two children. One is exhausting!
The wife and I had our 12 week scan last Friday and thus we can announce to the world the hopeful May arrival. We were feeling like life had gotten a bit stale since reliably getting seven to eight hours of sleep a night and thought we'd mix it up a bit.
Henry, as expected, has been amazing. He is delighted at the prospect of being a big brother and has predicted he is going to have a baby sister. Since finding out he has spoken to and kissed the baby every day. Heart-meltingly adorable! He even took a scan photo into school today to show his class. We could not be prouder of him and we are absolutely sure he will make an awesome big brother.
Which is good, because I have no idea how we are going to cope parenting two children. One is exhausting!
Monday, 26 September 2016
Homework?!
Phew! Got in less than a year since my last post!
Which is a real shame on Henry, as it has been an awesome few years but it is very difficult to prioritise this as four-year olds are exhausting. Really exhausting. Parenting is considerably harder work than I ever realised it would be.
The big recent change is my awesome boy has started school now. All grown up! We are very lucky and he skips happily into his class each morning without a backward glance, but does give his adult (whoever opens the door that morning) a big smile. He has also come back with positive reports every evening so all in all we are delighted with him.
But here's the rub.
At the end of his first full week in school he has been set homework. And something in me wants to scream and shout about this being ridiculous and a sign of how our education system has drifted from things that matter! Four year olds should not be getting homework - they should be getting memories and play and attention, not phonics and writing. It doesn't happen in [insert name of probably Scandinavian country] and the children there are happier than Charlie after he finds the golden ticket.
But before I do all that shouting I have taken a couple of breaths and attempted to think about this rationally.
He has not actually been asked to do anything that I would not want to be doing anyway. A bit of practising his letters and some reading with a loose notion of him identifying any letter sounds that he knows. Nothing too onerous and the kinds of things I'd want to do for him.
(A brief interlude - I am a huge fan of phonics. All the reading research shows us this the best possible way to help children learn to read, provided it is offered within the context of adults continuing to read to children, develop their vocabulary and a high level of verbal interaction. If those things are in place you cannot go wrong with phonics. If they are not, there are probably bigger concerns)
So it got me to thinking about how fortunate Henry is in comparison to other kids. A relatively stable home, with two parents who both work but are fortunate that one is only part time so he does not need to do breakfast or after school clubs. A nice house in a nice area. Plenty of food (perhaps too much for me). People who want to spend time with him and do not believe that much is learnt through computer games or television programmes. So many children do not have this and I wonder if schools think that they need to compensate for this and do so by instructing parents how to provide an environment that supports their efforts.
Sadly, my visceral reaction to this would suggest that the approach is not necessarily the best one. I think a number of teachers and schools could learn by adopting the policy of Brandy Young. Homework has only been shown to support educational progress in a rather limited way, most of which is not supported by the kinds of homework that seem to get set. Spending time together, sharing books, playing and getting to bed at a good time is all easier in a household that is not stressed from having to comply and feeling judged by your child's class teacher.
Unfortunately, for Henry I am British. So I have grumbled to anybody who would listen about the pointlessness of the situation and then sat down with him and practised his writing after dinner and read his school book twice. I don't want to be the parent that gets talked about in the staff room.
Which is a real shame on Henry, as it has been an awesome few years but it is very difficult to prioritise this as four-year olds are exhausting. Really exhausting. Parenting is considerably harder work than I ever realised it would be.
The big recent change is my awesome boy has started school now. All grown up! We are very lucky and he skips happily into his class each morning without a backward glance, but does give his adult (whoever opens the door that morning) a big smile. He has also come back with positive reports every evening so all in all we are delighted with him.
But here's the rub.
At the end of his first full week in school he has been set homework. And something in me wants to scream and shout about this being ridiculous and a sign of how our education system has drifted from things that matter! Four year olds should not be getting homework - they should be getting memories and play and attention, not phonics and writing. It doesn't happen in [insert name of probably Scandinavian country] and the children there are happier than Charlie after he finds the golden ticket.
But before I do all that shouting I have taken a couple of breaths and attempted to think about this rationally.
He has not actually been asked to do anything that I would not want to be doing anyway. A bit of practising his letters and some reading with a loose notion of him identifying any letter sounds that he knows. Nothing too onerous and the kinds of things I'd want to do for him.
(A brief interlude - I am a huge fan of phonics. All the reading research shows us this the best possible way to help children learn to read, provided it is offered within the context of adults continuing to read to children, develop their vocabulary and a high level of verbal interaction. If those things are in place you cannot go wrong with phonics. If they are not, there are probably bigger concerns)
So it got me to thinking about how fortunate Henry is in comparison to other kids. A relatively stable home, with two parents who both work but are fortunate that one is only part time so he does not need to do breakfast or after school clubs. A nice house in a nice area. Plenty of food (perhaps too much for me). People who want to spend time with him and do not believe that much is learnt through computer games or television programmes. So many children do not have this and I wonder if schools think that they need to compensate for this and do so by instructing parents how to provide an environment that supports their efforts.
Sadly, my visceral reaction to this would suggest that the approach is not necessarily the best one. I think a number of teachers and schools could learn by adopting the policy of Brandy Young. Homework has only been shown to support educational progress in a rather limited way, most of which is not supported by the kinds of homework that seem to get set. Spending time together, sharing books, playing and getting to bed at a good time is all easier in a household that is not stressed from having to comply and feeling judged by your child's class teacher.
Unfortunately, for Henry I am British. So I have grumbled to anybody who would listen about the pointlessness of the situation and then sat down with him and practised his writing after dinner and read his school book twice. I don't want to be the parent that gets talked about in the staff room.
Wednesday, 4 November 2015
Tantrums and tears
Picture the scene.
A father is carrying a screaming child who he has wrapped up in front of him from one end of the gardens to the car park. The child is crying out that the father is hurting him; it appears to be a firm but non-restrictive hold.
Some passers-by wince.
"That would never be our child" thinks a father. "Ah...wait. This is my child. I am that parent. Bugger."
I thought we had some tantrums during the terrible twos and I entered Henry's threes with a certain air of smugness.
"Yeah, he's had some tantrums, but nothing too bad."
Smug sod. I hate past-me.
Henry has very clearly been demonstrating that we are not in control and we are nothing like as good at this parenting thing as we thought we were. He has demonstrated some real barnstormers in the last two months. On two occasions I have worried that the incident might end in pea soup.
And here is the really difficult part to accept as a parent. No matter how patient you might be, how good your distractions might be, how much you ignore and how focussed you are on the good - three year olds get tired. And they cannot be controlled.
Nobody can be controlled, except yourself. You can attempt to create conditions that give the illusion of control, but really all you are hoping and praying for is that the child makes the choice you want to. And in this period of development, sometimes, he or she just thinks:
"To hell with what you want. I am an individual! A small, tired, incredibly vocal individual! Hear my roar!"
And all that is left for you as a parent is to weather the storm and pick up the sobbing pieces afterwards. Because once the storm has blown itself out you are left with a very vulnerable, upset little boy that doesn't really understand what just happened and needs reassurance that everything is ok in the world. It would be so easy to get caught in a vicious cycle where each other's frustration feeds and adds to the other's. The trick to parenting is securing their world and putting aside, for the moment, everything that was triggered in you - the lack of control, the frustration, the guilt and, I will admit it, the anger, and get back to being what your little boy needs you to be.
It is so very difficult, but so very important. Acknowledging we are human is not something we do often enough as parents. Emily and I are very lucky to have each other, close family and friends with children of a similar age that we can share stories with, offload and seek advice without fear of judgement. I dread to think what it would be like without them and I appreciate them every day.
A father is carrying a screaming child who he has wrapped up in front of him from one end of the gardens to the car park. The child is crying out that the father is hurting him; it appears to be a firm but non-restrictive hold.
Some passers-by wince.
"That would never be our child" thinks a father. "Ah...wait. This is my child. I am that parent. Bugger."
I thought we had some tantrums during the terrible twos and I entered Henry's threes with a certain air of smugness.
"Yeah, he's had some tantrums, but nothing too bad."
Smug sod. I hate past-me.
Henry has very clearly been demonstrating that we are not in control and we are nothing like as good at this parenting thing as we thought we were. He has demonstrated some real barnstormers in the last two months. On two occasions I have worried that the incident might end in pea soup.
And here is the really difficult part to accept as a parent. No matter how patient you might be, how good your distractions might be, how much you ignore and how focussed you are on the good - three year olds get tired. And they cannot be controlled.
Nobody can be controlled, except yourself. You can attempt to create conditions that give the illusion of control, but really all you are hoping and praying for is that the child makes the choice you want to. And in this period of development, sometimes, he or she just thinks:
"To hell with what you want. I am an individual! A small, tired, incredibly vocal individual! Hear my roar!"
And all that is left for you as a parent is to weather the storm and pick up the sobbing pieces afterwards. Because once the storm has blown itself out you are left with a very vulnerable, upset little boy that doesn't really understand what just happened and needs reassurance that everything is ok in the world. It would be so easy to get caught in a vicious cycle where each other's frustration feeds and adds to the other's. The trick to parenting is securing their world and putting aside, for the moment, everything that was triggered in you - the lack of control, the frustration, the guilt and, I will admit it, the anger, and get back to being what your little boy needs you to be.
It is so very difficult, but so very important. Acknowledging we are human is not something we do often enough as parents. Emily and I are very lucky to have each other, close family and friends with children of a similar age that we can share stories with, offload and seek advice without fear of judgement. I dread to think what it would be like without them and I appreciate them every day.
Friday, 21 August 2015
Holiday?!
Oh my! Of all the activities you could choose to go on with a three year old, I am not sure camping for a holiday is a sensible one.
Holidays are generally considered to be periods of time where responsibility is lessened and those involved are able to relax and enjoy themselves. Camping with a three year old does not tick these boxes.
My three year old is a particularly loud one, I believe. He is also quite highly strung (see my previous post - I am not blaming him, I accept responsibility and this is merely an observation). He is highly social - which makes him rather demanding of attention.
So when mummy and daddy take him and attempt to erect a tent and all the paraphernalia that will make the experience more comfortable and enjoyable it can be a quite considerable test. Then there are the nights which are filled with very different sensory experiences as we attempt to settle him down. The mornings, generally, begin earlier than usual (campers are early risers!) and my wife and I are not great at just 'going with it'. We have friends that are superbly gifted at this and we admire and resent them in almost equal measures!
But, as with many things I am finding in my life, we do it because we think it will be good for Henry. Campsite culture comes with a sense of freedom and independence, even for young children. There is a deliberate move away from the technological distractions of modern family life (although I will admit Henry sat in the car playing a game on my wife's phone whilst we erected the tent - the previous camping trip he had walked around with a mallet 'fixing' the ground. Our mallet has now broken). We walked, we visited the beach. We ate dinner on our laps and biscuits in bed. We drank hot chocolate before bed. We looked at stars. I am already beginning to look back at it with more affection than I recall feeling at the time and while holidays remain as expensive as they do outside of term time (for example, see this article) camping is likely to be the forseeable future of holidaying for us.
So I best get back to eBay to try to find that piece of equipment that does that thing that will make all of this easier.
Holidays are generally considered to be periods of time where responsibility is lessened and those involved are able to relax and enjoy themselves. Camping with a three year old does not tick these boxes.
My three year old is a particularly loud one, I believe. He is also quite highly strung (see my previous post - I am not blaming him, I accept responsibility and this is merely an observation). He is highly social - which makes him rather demanding of attention.
So when mummy and daddy take him and attempt to erect a tent and all the paraphernalia that will make the experience more comfortable and enjoyable it can be a quite considerable test. Then there are the nights which are filled with very different sensory experiences as we attempt to settle him down. The mornings, generally, begin earlier than usual (campers are early risers!) and my wife and I are not great at just 'going with it'. We have friends that are superbly gifted at this and we admire and resent them in almost equal measures!
But, as with many things I am finding in my life, we do it because we think it will be good for Henry. Campsite culture comes with a sense of freedom and independence, even for young children. There is a deliberate move away from the technological distractions of modern family life (although I will admit Henry sat in the car playing a game on my wife's phone whilst we erected the tent - the previous camping trip he had walked around with a mallet 'fixing' the ground. Our mallet has now broken). We walked, we visited the beach. We ate dinner on our laps and biscuits in bed. We drank hot chocolate before bed. We looked at stars. I am already beginning to look back at it with more affection than I recall feeling at the time and while holidays remain as expensive as they do outside of term time (for example, see this article) camping is likely to be the forseeable future of holidaying for us.
So I best get back to eBay to try to find that piece of equipment that does that thing that will make all of this easier.
Me and fatherhood
I think my last post started with a lament about how long it has been since I posted, and this one (over a year later) can only begin in the same manner.
The problem I have found recently is how easy it is to let life just carry you through as a passenger without any sense of steering. The loss of my father nearly four years ago has played heavily on my mind in this intervening time and I realised around six months ago that it had begun to affect my relationship with Henry. You could use the label depression; a GP has with me and I am now seeing a counsellor. I am not particularly interested in labels, more trying to understand why certain choices are made and how these seem relevant or appropriate.
I hold a firm belief that children are the product of their parents, and while nature plays a role nurture is considerably more powerful. If a child is causing problems, I would argue, you need to check for whom the behaviour is a problem, why the behaviour is occurring and what in their environment is causing it. As a result, when Henry started to behave in a way that was a problem for me I realised I could not blame him; I had to look closely at myself.
This coincided for me, fortunately, with a course on mindfulness. I would heartily recommend this approach. It has not changed me dramatically, but it has made enough change to help me correct my course and get back to parenting Henry in a manner that I believe is more positive and healthy.
It is so easy to place blame elsewhere, to talk about how others affect you and the reason for bad outcomes is not within your control. I am currently on a journey that is teaching me that I am responsible for what happens in those around me, and this includes Henry. My parenting problems are not 'solved' (will they ever be?) by any stretch of the imagination. A recent camping trip and a reluctant sleeper tested my resolve greatly! But I am certainly feeling more in control. And when things go badly, or well, I know again where to look.
This has been a bit of an introspective post, one that focuses more on me than Henry, but I will not apologise for that. A significant part of me and fatherhood is, indeed, me. And I believe it is important to remember that both in a critically reflective way, how am I affecting the situation around me, and with mindfulness and kindness, forgiving myself when I get it wrong.
The problem I have found recently is how easy it is to let life just carry you through as a passenger without any sense of steering. The loss of my father nearly four years ago has played heavily on my mind in this intervening time and I realised around six months ago that it had begun to affect my relationship with Henry. You could use the label depression; a GP has with me and I am now seeing a counsellor. I am not particularly interested in labels, more trying to understand why certain choices are made and how these seem relevant or appropriate.
I hold a firm belief that children are the product of their parents, and while nature plays a role nurture is considerably more powerful. If a child is causing problems, I would argue, you need to check for whom the behaviour is a problem, why the behaviour is occurring and what in their environment is causing it. As a result, when Henry started to behave in a way that was a problem for me I realised I could not blame him; I had to look closely at myself.
This coincided for me, fortunately, with a course on mindfulness. I would heartily recommend this approach. It has not changed me dramatically, but it has made enough change to help me correct my course and get back to parenting Henry in a manner that I believe is more positive and healthy.
It is so easy to place blame elsewhere, to talk about how others affect you and the reason for bad outcomes is not within your control. I am currently on a journey that is teaching me that I am responsible for what happens in those around me, and this includes Henry. My parenting problems are not 'solved' (will they ever be?) by any stretch of the imagination. A recent camping trip and a reluctant sleeper tested my resolve greatly! But I am certainly feeling more in control. And when things go badly, or well, I know again where to look.
This has been a bit of an introspective post, one that focuses more on me than Henry, but I will not apologise for that. A significant part of me and fatherhood is, indeed, me. And I believe it is important to remember that both in a critically reflective way, how am I affecting the situation around me, and with mindfulness and kindness, forgiving myself when I get it wrong.
Thursday, 1 May 2014
Happiness
Dear
Henry,
You
are a little young for this letter right now, but I hope in time it
will become more meaningful to you. I originally wrote a letter very similar to this one for Naomi's naming day as a present, but as I was writing it I realised how much I wanted you to understand the lessons within it.
I hope that by the time you read this you understand a little more about your dad and what I do for a living. I
am a psychologist so I am interested, simply, in how people
think and feel and behave. I also believe these three things
influence each other. This is important and I will come back
to it.
What
I am not, is a particularly practical man - you will have realised this by now as every time something goes wrong we call Steve, Jamie or Granddad! When Steve and Sarah asked for something personal for Naomi the best that I could come up with was ...happiness.
I
need you to pay special attention now. Are you listening?
Sitting comfortably? No other distractions? Good.
Then I will carry on.
Happiness
is not something that just happens. We are not passive
recipients of some floating cloud that rains good emotion down upon
us. The Dalai Lama (very cool guy, look him up) has said that:
"Happiness
is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions."
We
need to work at it and we need to use it. If you do not it
withers away and becomes harder to find. If this happens you
are less likely to feel good about life. So my gift to Naomi, and now to you, is a collection of pointers on how you can ensure your own happiness as you grow and
move through life.
I
have another couple of important points that I need you to
understand before I get to what I consider to be the practical bits.
Firstly,
happiness is not about stuff. It is not about possessions.
The positive emotion that can be found in things is, generally,
fleeting and unsatisfying. Secondly, happiness is made better
by making other people happy. If you do good, you will feel
good. This is something your parents do very well, although I
am never entirely sure if they realise, or give themselves credit
for, how good they are at it. Watch them and learn from them.
Make people feel special and you become special and feel special.
Simple sounding, isn't it?
So
this is what I would like you to do, to help you stay happy and
healthy in life.
- Do things for people, connect with them, pay them attention. If you value others, you will in turn be valued. Remember how important people are and respect them for their own humanity, not because of what they can do for you. Something you can do for yourself is to...
- Exercise. This may be a cliché, but it really is the most powerful way to feel good about yourself. And while I am on the subject of feeling good about yourself...
- Accept who you are. Do not chase others' ideas of who they think you should be. It is your skin and you need to live in it, so accept it and be happy with it. You will not be getting another one! So don't worry about it and...
- Try whenever possible to live in the moment. Appreciate the things around you, the sounds, the sights, the smells, the touch, the taste. Life is about experiences, a person is the sum of what they have seen and done, so appreciate them. Strive to make those experiences positive and fulfilling. To do this you will need to...
- Keep learning. We never stop growing as people. If you allow yourself to stop, you stagnate. Keep yourself occupied and trying new things and never be afraid to say "I don't understand". To do this you will need to...
- Stay positive. Optimism is one of the most powerful pieces of psychological armour you can possess. You will experience setbacks, downs and lows. But remember that is all they are and it is within your power to change things. So much of life is based on how we interpret it. Choose to interpret it positively and this will help to...
- Ensure your life has meaning. Look to involve yourself in something bigger than your own small world. We are tiny specks in the sea of human experience, but enough of those specks together can move worlds and change lives.
I
hope by now you have realised how important I believe attitude and
the things that we choose to do are in helping us to live happy
lives. What I cannot do in this letter is tell you all the
ways you can do this. If I am honest, I hope you don't need this letter as I plan on being around long enough to teach you these lessons myself, but you never know do you? And at least if it is here, I know something will be passed on to you. Something that I continue to need to remind myself is to treasure the good times. This can be difficult when you are tired, and stressed, and in need of space - but it is those times when it matters the most. If you find yourself slipping, stop. Look around. There are some many beautiful sights to behold if we just take the time to look.
I would like to leave you some lifework. Start to write down the
things that make you feel grateful, proud or happy. Don't be
afraid to think big (I live in a safe democracy) or small (I had an
awesome meal today!), but do think and do record them. This
act alone will go a long way to keeping you happy.
I
hope you come to enjoy, understand and appreciate this gift.
But, more than that, I hope that with or without this letter you
lead a happy and fulfilled life my son.
With all
my love, my precious boy
Dad
Friday, 18 April 2014
Henry - this isn't space, everybody can hear you scream
We are going through quite a special stage with Henry. High pitched, ear piercing, glass shattering screaming. Seemingly out of the blue, without warning Henry will let rip with a banshee cry.
Why?!
I have no idea what purpose it serves, I have not found a strategy to prevent him from doing it, a stern word sometimes stops it being instantly repeated but not always. We cannot work out what it's about, or what to do about it.
Other parents have told us their children went through this stage, but I can honestly say I have never heard a child like him in the past. Generally, he is noisty and loud and the sound is one of excited, happy amazement. This feels like it has evolved simply to push our buttons. And, perhaps, therein lies the solution? Yet, ignoring it does not make it go away
This may sound relatively minor but that is only because you are reading this and not hearing that. It has got to a point, recently, where Emily would not come to dinner in a hotel because people seemed to move away from us. Now, I am fairly robust as a person and parent, but that really does make you wish you were not there when people move away!
This seems just an opportunity to offload - unless anybody has a suggestion? All would be gratefully received!
Why?!
I have no idea what purpose it serves, I have not found a strategy to prevent him from doing it, a stern word sometimes stops it being instantly repeated but not always. We cannot work out what it's about, or what to do about it.
Other parents have told us their children went through this stage, but I can honestly say I have never heard a child like him in the past. Generally, he is noisty and loud and the sound is one of excited, happy amazement. This feels like it has evolved simply to push our buttons. And, perhaps, therein lies the solution? Yet, ignoring it does not make it go away
This may sound relatively minor but that is only because you are reading this and not hearing that. It has got to a point, recently, where Emily would not come to dinner in a hotel because people seemed to move away from us. Now, I am fairly robust as a person and parent, but that really does make you wish you were not there when people move away!
This seems just an opportunity to offload - unless anybody has a suggestion? All would be gratefully received!
Tuesday, 15 April 2014
Two years and counting
It's been nearly a year since I last wrote here, which is a shame given the shear amount of development that has gone in Henry's life. I have finally succumbed to marital pressure to put finger to keyboard again and update the blog.
Henry turned two last week. The notion of a child turning two brings with it fears of tantrums, which we have avoided, in the main, so far. He is definitely attempting to exert a personality, and we can see frustration from wanting to communicate more than he feels able but mostly, we have all survived.
He is a running, stomping, jumping cheekly little boy now - a devilish grin appears to get him out of most tricky situations. What has been noticeable in the last few months, and again I would say it is a result of his cognitive development moving at pace, is the development of fears. He is having a major water wobble and clings to us if he is in out of his depth - but absolutely loves the water if it is shallow enough. He has also been a little fearful of our tortoises, but as he gets used to them again (they only recently came out of hibernation) this seems to be easing.
What is hardest is knowing how to deal with it. Do we soldier on, exposing him to these risks and hoping that desensitises him? Or should we be child led, letting him dictate the pace but running the risk of ingraining these anxieties? As in most things I imagine the answer is somewhere in the middle but these are the challenges that make parenting such an exhausting, difficult and frustrating calling. However, the smiles, the giggles and the reminder that the world is a fascinating and wonderful place continues to make it all worthwhile.
Sunday, 19 May 2013
Dear diary
Dear Diary,
What a busy day I've had! Would you like to hear more about it? Well, you haven't got a choice.
6:50am. I woke up. The mummy one wasn't there. Nor was the daddy one. So I shouted and the mummy one soon came. She picked me up like I asked and gave me a cuddle. I like cuddles, provided they don't last too long. Then she gave me some water and put me back to bed. I was lost for words. I just lay there for a good ten minutes wondering if it was some elaborate joke - mummy one and daddy one do love to play peek-a-boo, and they're very good at it. But it got to a point that nobody was jumping out and nobody had fed me. So I shouted again. Mummy one came back straight away.
7:30. Shreddies for breakfast today. I love Shreddies. I played a great joke on daddy one yesterday and dropped my bowl on the floor! Mummy one was too quick today, so I just ended up eating lots. I love Shreddies.
8am. Shreddies finished and it was time for my hot towel treatment. I'm happy with how the training of mummy one and daddy one is coming on. They both know now that I like a hot damp towel after meals so that I can suck some of the water out to wash down my meal. Occasionally they insist on rubbing my face with it, but a good sharp scream normally puts a stop to that.
8:30. The daddy one comes downstairs and he has warm mess for dinner. I let him know I want some by pointing, but don't really like it so throw it on the floor. Maybe I'll eat it later. Instead I let the daddy one know that I have finished and indicate that it is time for him to lift me to the floor so I can get on with the highly important business of seeing how far I can throw some balls, and loading the tumble dryer with as much as I can fit in. When that's done I like to round my morning off by posting some of the mummy and daddy ones' things out of the cat flap. It's good to keep reminding them who is in charge.
9:15. We arrive for my swimming lesson. I love these normally. Today the daddy one was in with me. He carried me around the pool, occasionally letting me show off my own swimming acumen, but it is important that he learns how to safely pull me through the water so I largely just leave him to get on with it. The water is lovely and warm and it helps me to unwind.
10am. Out of the water and it is time for the mummy one to do my hair and dress me for my day. Once she has finished I get the daddy one to take me down to shout at the chickens. I do love nature, but arrogant birds really wind me up so I put them in their place whenever I have the opportunity. That done and it's off for a trip with the grandma one. The grandma one can be relied upon for a biscuit and a good game.
11am. I have been in and out of the car a couple of times and frankly it's beginning to irritate me. Luckily, the mummy one had brought some of my favourite foods so I decide not to shout too loudly at her. We have a look at a lot of people's car boots but the mummy and daddy ones were a bit disappointed and were unable to find me a suitable offering so came home empty handed. I was going to let them know how disappointing I found this, but the daddy one pulled a surprise out of the bag later.
12pm. It has been a busy morning, so the mummy one gives me a cup of my favourite drink and carries me to my bed for a nap.
2pm. Again, I wake up and nobody is here instantly. A quick shout and the mummy one soon comes running. Lunchtime I say! The daddy one had left some of his warm breakfast mess, so I decide to finish that off. I live by the mantra if you snooze, you lose! He wasn't about at this point, but I soon found out where he had gone.
2:45pm. The daddy one has a big stupid grin on his face, which normally bodes well for me. And he delivers! He's been out and got me a slide! I spend five minutes inspecting it, to make sure it is of a sufficiently high standard then demand to be placed at the top. So much fun! I make the daddy one put me at the top another ten or so times until I begin to grow a bit bored and remind them both it is time to take me to nanny's. We set off. I get easily bored on journeys and need to keep reminding the mummy one to keep passing me snacks. Why she doesn't just leave me the snacks with me, I don't know. Honestly, you drop one container of blueberries and they treat you like a moron.
4pm. We arrive at nanny's - uncle 3 is there so I make him play with the ball with me. He's getting better, but his training is at an early stage still. He will learn soon enough. Uncle 1 comes in as well, so I make him join in with us. Then those arrogant bloody cats come in. Doesn't matter how much I shout at them, they still wander around like they own the place. Lucky for them the mummy and daddy ones stop me from getting them, I'd knock their bloody patronising whiskers off if I could. It's like they don't realise how important I am. Nanny comes in with uncle 2 which takes my mind off the cats. Nanny is very well trained and plays very well with a ball.
6pm. The daddy one finally gives me some dinner. This is late, I am going to have to write a comment in his personnel file. To punish them, and check they have kept up with the training I choke myself on some pappadum. The mummy one responds quickly - she has earned a gold star. The daddy one just sits there looking frightened. Pillock. If he doesn't buck his ideas up I may need to look for a new daddy one.
7pm. Time to go home. I am getting tired so tell the daddy one to warm the car up. Everybody insists on giving me a kiss, it can get tiresome but when in a position of power you do have a certain responsibility to the servants. The daddy one redeems himself somewhat with some excellent fetching of the ball. However, I do decide to give him a final warning by leaving him a particularly ripe present in my underwear to clean up. Once he has finished he is dismissed with a wave and then one last drink before the mummy one carries me to my bed. The end of a good day, but I don't know what those two would do if they didn't have me to tell them what to do.
What a busy day I've had! Would you like to hear more about it? Well, you haven't got a choice.
6:50am. I woke up. The mummy one wasn't there. Nor was the daddy one. So I shouted and the mummy one soon came. She picked me up like I asked and gave me a cuddle. I like cuddles, provided they don't last too long. Then she gave me some water and put me back to bed. I was lost for words. I just lay there for a good ten minutes wondering if it was some elaborate joke - mummy one and daddy one do love to play peek-a-boo, and they're very good at it. But it got to a point that nobody was jumping out and nobody had fed me. So I shouted again. Mummy one came back straight away.
7:30. Shreddies for breakfast today. I love Shreddies. I played a great joke on daddy one yesterday and dropped my bowl on the floor! Mummy one was too quick today, so I just ended up eating lots. I love Shreddies.
8am. Shreddies finished and it was time for my hot towel treatment. I'm happy with how the training of mummy one and daddy one is coming on. They both know now that I like a hot damp towel after meals so that I can suck some of the water out to wash down my meal. Occasionally they insist on rubbing my face with it, but a good sharp scream normally puts a stop to that.
8:30. The daddy one comes downstairs and he has warm mess for dinner. I let him know I want some by pointing, but don't really like it so throw it on the floor. Maybe I'll eat it later. Instead I let the daddy one know that I have finished and indicate that it is time for him to lift me to the floor so I can get on with the highly important business of seeing how far I can throw some balls, and loading the tumble dryer with as much as I can fit in. When that's done I like to round my morning off by posting some of the mummy and daddy ones' things out of the cat flap. It's good to keep reminding them who is in charge.
9:15. We arrive for my swimming lesson. I love these normally. Today the daddy one was in with me. He carried me around the pool, occasionally letting me show off my own swimming acumen, but it is important that he learns how to safely pull me through the water so I largely just leave him to get on with it. The water is lovely and warm and it helps me to unwind.
10am. Out of the water and it is time for the mummy one to do my hair and dress me for my day. Once she has finished I get the daddy one to take me down to shout at the chickens. I do love nature, but arrogant birds really wind me up so I put them in their place whenever I have the opportunity. That done and it's off for a trip with the grandma one. The grandma one can be relied upon for a biscuit and a good game.
11am. I have been in and out of the car a couple of times and frankly it's beginning to irritate me. Luckily, the mummy one had brought some of my favourite foods so I decide not to shout too loudly at her. We have a look at a lot of people's car boots but the mummy and daddy ones were a bit disappointed and were unable to find me a suitable offering so came home empty handed. I was going to let them know how disappointing I found this, but the daddy one pulled a surprise out of the bag later.
12pm. It has been a busy morning, so the mummy one gives me a cup of my favourite drink and carries me to my bed for a nap.
2pm. Again, I wake up and nobody is here instantly. A quick shout and the mummy one soon comes running. Lunchtime I say! The daddy one had left some of his warm breakfast mess, so I decide to finish that off. I live by the mantra if you snooze, you lose! He wasn't about at this point, but I soon found out where he had gone.
2:45pm. The daddy one has a big stupid grin on his face, which normally bodes well for me. And he delivers! He's been out and got me a slide! I spend five minutes inspecting it, to make sure it is of a sufficiently high standard then demand to be placed at the top. So much fun! I make the daddy one put me at the top another ten or so times until I begin to grow a bit bored and remind them both it is time to take me to nanny's. We set off. I get easily bored on journeys and need to keep reminding the mummy one to keep passing me snacks. Why she doesn't just leave me the snacks with me, I don't know. Honestly, you drop one container of blueberries and they treat you like a moron.
4pm. We arrive at nanny's - uncle 3 is there so I make him play with the ball with me. He's getting better, but his training is at an early stage still. He will learn soon enough. Uncle 1 comes in as well, so I make him join in with us. Then those arrogant bloody cats come in. Doesn't matter how much I shout at them, they still wander around like they own the place. Lucky for them the mummy and daddy ones stop me from getting them, I'd knock their bloody patronising whiskers off if I could. It's like they don't realise how important I am. Nanny comes in with uncle 2 which takes my mind off the cats. Nanny is very well trained and plays very well with a ball.
6pm. The daddy one finally gives me some dinner. This is late, I am going to have to write a comment in his personnel file. To punish them, and check they have kept up with the training I choke myself on some pappadum. The mummy one responds quickly - she has earned a gold star. The daddy one just sits there looking frightened. Pillock. If he doesn't buck his ideas up I may need to look for a new daddy one.
7pm. Time to go home. I am getting tired so tell the daddy one to warm the car up. Everybody insists on giving me a kiss, it can get tiresome but when in a position of power you do have a certain responsibility to the servants. The daddy one redeems himself somewhat with some excellent fetching of the ball. However, I do decide to give him a final warning by leaving him a particularly ripe present in my underwear to clean up. Once he has finished he is dismissed with a wave and then one last drink before the mummy one carries me to my bed. The end of a good day, but I don't know what those two would do if they didn't have me to tell them what to do.
Wednesday, 15 May 2013
One small step for Henry
Henry is now upwardly mobile! And my word the transition from a few faltering steps to crossing
the room to fall into the arms of a parent happens quickly. It has amazed me how quickly
this skill gathers momentum. And with it, it is time for another attack of parental paranoia:
Pack away the ornaments! (we haven't)
Rubberise sharp corners! (errr...haven't done that either)
Get everything off the floor! (ummm...nope)
Protect the eyeline! (oh dear, this is beginning to get embarrassing)
Friends have warned us that walking changes things. But friends also warned us that crawling changed things. And I am sure talking will change things. As with all of parenting, in my opinion, the most important thing you can do is listen and then apply what makes sense to you. All people have ideas about how things should be done, and some of those ideas are great. However, you know you and your child better than they do, so not all the ideas will work. The trick is to sieve out the ones that will and use them. The joys of each stage of development have always outweighed the challenges. I am sure the same will be true of walking. Already one of my deepest pleasures in life is his hand reaching for a finger to clasp as he explores his world.
I will be honest, we have always had a fairly laissez-faire attitude to parenting Henry. He has been allowed a fair amount of independent exploration which has brought him into contact with a fair amount of non-toys. In fact, until recently, he had very few toys and was generally entertained by a box of cardboard tubes, empty bottles and the odd pan and utensil. What has become really noticeable for me is the joy he experiences in the simple things of life. There is nothing like a baby (do I need to stop calling him a baby now? Is he officially a toddler? I appear to have lost that chapter from my baby manual) to remind you of what is important. Happiness is a bird in the sky, a ball, a game of chase between mummy and daddy, a bath, bubbles, drinking from a cup, holding a hand, singing a song and walking around the garden.
It is not doing the dishes, putting away clothes, tidying up. I very often get caught up in things that I perceive as needing to be done and forget that they will wait but my baby boy is disappearing while I am not looking. With all things there is a balance to be struck, but Emily and Henry are helping to pull me back from missing out on him.
Now I need some rest as in the morning there will be birds to scream at and pots to bang.
Pack away the ornaments! (we haven't)
Rubberise sharp corners! (errr...haven't done that either)
Get everything off the floor! (ummm...nope)
Protect the eyeline! (oh dear, this is beginning to get embarrassing)
Friends have warned us that walking changes things. But friends also warned us that crawling changed things. And I am sure talking will change things. As with all of parenting, in my opinion, the most important thing you can do is listen and then apply what makes sense to you. All people have ideas about how things should be done, and some of those ideas are great. However, you know you and your child better than they do, so not all the ideas will work. The trick is to sieve out the ones that will and use them. The joys of each stage of development have always outweighed the challenges. I am sure the same will be true of walking. Already one of my deepest pleasures in life is his hand reaching for a finger to clasp as he explores his world.
I will be honest, we have always had a fairly laissez-faire attitude to parenting Henry. He has been allowed a fair amount of independent exploration which has brought him into contact with a fair amount of non-toys. In fact, until recently, he had very few toys and was generally entertained by a box of cardboard tubes, empty bottles and the odd pan and utensil. What has become really noticeable for me is the joy he experiences in the simple things of life. There is nothing like a baby (do I need to stop calling him a baby now? Is he officially a toddler? I appear to have lost that chapter from my baby manual) to remind you of what is important. Happiness is a bird in the sky, a ball, a game of chase between mummy and daddy, a bath, bubbles, drinking from a cup, holding a hand, singing a song and walking around the garden.
It is not doing the dishes, putting away clothes, tidying up. I very often get caught up in things that I perceive as needing to be done and forget that they will wait but my baby boy is disappearing while I am not looking. With all things there is a balance to be struck, but Emily and Henry are helping to pull me back from missing out on him.
Now I need some rest as in the morning there will be birds to scream at and pots to bang.
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
My war story
Some research has been recently published exploring the experience of fathers present at traumatic births. Broadly, it found that while things are undoubtedly tough for mothers, it's not all plain sailing for fathers either.
Unsurprisingly, some areas of the popular media have sensationalised the issue, while The Independent and The Guardian published excellent opinion pieces. I was approached by the Mumsnet blogger network to offer my views, so allow me to start by telling you about my experience.
Henry's birth was easier than some, harder than others, in the simple terms of physical complications. It was a natural delivery with the help of an episiotomy and forceps. No coneheaded ventouse delivery, no emergency Caeserian, no blood transfusions; a conscious mother, a healthy baby, a normal delivery team. So far, so good.
This is where I find Ally Fogg's Guardian piece overly simplistic. I did find the birth of Henry to be one of the more traumatic experiences of my life. I haven't been haunted by flashbacks and I'm not after sympathy. But there is something very harrowing about helplessly being beside your partner who is going through considerable pain, while a medical team slice, stretch, inject and, generally, violate an area that is particularly dear to your heart. The one focus of all of this attention is to deliver your child, a miracle that has been made possible by the magical work of the mother's body, and a tiny bit of goo you provided nine months ago. You are, in effect, helpless at a time when you want to protect your family the most and the only thing you can do is support, in whatever way is required. For me, this was hours of rubbing a back, followed by hand-holding and, finally, inspecting the needlework of the obstetrician. That, if I am honest, is an image I try not to revisit.
So why tell you all this? As I said, I do not want sympathy - my emotional experience pales into insignificance next to my wife's physical pain, that lasted far longer than those hours of labour and delivery. I have asked in the safety of my own family whether or not the experience is emotionally more traumatic for men, whilst physically more traumatic for women. I was not derided or divorced, so perhaps there is something in that. Whatver, the case may be I am writing about this because, and at this point I find myself in favour of Ally's article, it is important that fathers are there for many reasons.
Firstly, your child is coming into the world. No feeling can replace it. I was the first person to see that Henry was a boy (thank goodness, it's a rubbish name for a girl). I wept for the pain my wife was in, but also for the magic of seeing and meeting my son for the first time.
Secondly, I had to be my wife's rock during this time. Until you have seen what women must go through you cannot possibly begin to understand childbirth - much like you have no idea what parenthood is like until you become one. She needed me there, despite any hardship that I may have faced as a result of being there I would never change it. I cannot imagine her having to go through that without me, even if all I did was rub and ensure the gas-and-air remained firmly clamped to her mouth. Heaven help you if the tube falls off the mouthpiece.
Thirdly, you will respect and appreciate your partner in ways you did not realise were possible. She is terrified of anything creepy or crawly, squeamish around meat, frightened of birds, does not like to be last up the stairs in the dark, and will complain incessantly if she has a bruise. But never will I feel comfortable calling her a wuss again.
And, finally, because I agree with Mike Higgins in The Independent. There is still an expectation that fathers do not get affected by situations like this. We do. It is emotionally tough and it is important that this is recognised. I have not met another father who thinks differently, but nor have I met one who was not looked after by the delivery team. By talking about it we can be better prepared because I am sure that everybody wants to do whatever it is that is required of them to help their child enter the world.
Unsurprisingly, some areas of the popular media have sensationalised the issue, while The Independent and The Guardian published excellent opinion pieces. I was approached by the Mumsnet blogger network to offer my views, so allow me to start by telling you about my experience.
Henry's birth was easier than some, harder than others, in the simple terms of physical complications. It was a natural delivery with the help of an episiotomy and forceps. No coneheaded ventouse delivery, no emergency Caeserian, no blood transfusions; a conscious mother, a healthy baby, a normal delivery team. So far, so good.
This is where I find Ally Fogg's Guardian piece overly simplistic. I did find the birth of Henry to be one of the more traumatic experiences of my life. I haven't been haunted by flashbacks and I'm not after sympathy. But there is something very harrowing about helplessly being beside your partner who is going through considerable pain, while a medical team slice, stretch, inject and, generally, violate an area that is particularly dear to your heart. The one focus of all of this attention is to deliver your child, a miracle that has been made possible by the magical work of the mother's body, and a tiny bit of goo you provided nine months ago. You are, in effect, helpless at a time when you want to protect your family the most and the only thing you can do is support, in whatever way is required. For me, this was hours of rubbing a back, followed by hand-holding and, finally, inspecting the needlework of the obstetrician. That, if I am honest, is an image I try not to revisit.
So why tell you all this? As I said, I do not want sympathy - my emotional experience pales into insignificance next to my wife's physical pain, that lasted far longer than those hours of labour and delivery. I have asked in the safety of my own family whether or not the experience is emotionally more traumatic for men, whilst physically more traumatic for women. I was not derided or divorced, so perhaps there is something in that. Whatver, the case may be I am writing about this because, and at this point I find myself in favour of Ally's article, it is important that fathers are there for many reasons.
Firstly, your child is coming into the world. No feeling can replace it. I was the first person to see that Henry was a boy (thank goodness, it's a rubbish name for a girl). I wept for the pain my wife was in, but also for the magic of seeing and meeting my son for the first time.
Secondly, I had to be my wife's rock during this time. Until you have seen what women must go through you cannot possibly begin to understand childbirth - much like you have no idea what parenthood is like until you become one. She needed me there, despite any hardship that I may have faced as a result of being there I would never change it. I cannot imagine her having to go through that without me, even if all I did was rub and ensure the gas-and-air remained firmly clamped to her mouth. Heaven help you if the tube falls off the mouthpiece.
Thirdly, you will respect and appreciate your partner in ways you did not realise were possible. She is terrified of anything creepy or crawly, squeamish around meat, frightened of birds, does not like to be last up the stairs in the dark, and will complain incessantly if she has a bruise. But never will I feel comfortable calling her a wuss again.
And, finally, because I agree with Mike Higgins in The Independent. There is still an expectation that fathers do not get affected by situations like this. We do. It is emotionally tough and it is important that this is recognised. I have not met another father who thinks differently, but nor have I met one who was not looked after by the delivery team. By talking about it we can be better prepared because I am sure that everybody wants to do whatever it is that is required of them to help their child enter the world.
Sunday, 17 February 2013
Ten months on
Henry is now over ten months old - the big one is on the horizon.
I have spoken in the past of parental paranoia and I have recently discovered a new manifestation of it. Henry has been going through a rough patch of sleeping. Personally, I never knew I could do my job on so little rest. We have put this period down to teething (I have spoken in the past of my thoughts with regards to these stone circles of misery). Henry is not a lad that appears to teethe well and we feel for him.
The paranoia has come as a result of our desire to make things better for him. We have considered a number of factors beyond the teething that might be to blame for the poor nights and attempted to change or affect as many of them as possible. For example, he will frequently wake or cry in the middle of the night, then let rip with some powerful gaseous excretions. So we have considered:
But this is the difficulty with babies. They cannot communicate with you, and even experienced trained paediatricians make little more than well-informed guesses that appear to be frequently based on parental intuition. I know there is far more to it than that (I am certainly not denigrating them in any way - I hold the medical profession in a very high regard) but to speak plainly, at Henry's age they just do not know. So many of that list could be standard growing pains. But we are now putting it down to teething.
What we have learnt is that there are simply some things that you cannot change, avoid or do for your baby. We cannot get these teeth out any quicker than he is prepared to grow them. We cannot stop him feeling the side effects (although we are considering buying shares in Calpol with the amount that we attempt to ameliorate it for him with this wonder-fluid). We cannot predict what the next side effect may be. We can only do what we can with the available information and make him as comfortable as possible, or distract when needed. It is a distressing time for him, and is equally distressing for us because we cannot stop it. But what we are now trying hard to do is accept the reality rather than chasing phantoms because it is out of our control and we want it to be something we can control.
I have spoken in the past of parental paranoia and I have recently discovered a new manifestation of it. Henry has been going through a rough patch of sleeping. Personally, I never knew I could do my job on so little rest. We have put this period down to teething (I have spoken in the past of my thoughts with regards to these stone circles of misery). Henry is not a lad that appears to teethe well and we feel for him.
The paranoia has come as a result of our desire to make things better for him. We have considered a number of factors beyond the teething that might be to blame for the poor nights and attempted to change or affect as many of them as possible. For example, he will frequently wake or cry in the middle of the night, then let rip with some powerful gaseous excretions. So we have considered:
- a wheat allergy
- eating too late
- eating too early
- eating too much
- yoghurt is to blame
- yoghurt makes things better
- drinking bath water
- not moving around enough after dinner
- being fed too quickly
But this is the difficulty with babies. They cannot communicate with you, and even experienced trained paediatricians make little more than well-informed guesses that appear to be frequently based on parental intuition. I know there is far more to it than that (I am certainly not denigrating them in any way - I hold the medical profession in a very high regard) but to speak plainly, at Henry's age they just do not know. So many of that list could be standard growing pains. But we are now putting it down to teething.
What we have learnt is that there are simply some things that you cannot change, avoid or do for your baby. We cannot get these teeth out any quicker than he is prepared to grow them. We cannot stop him feeling the side effects (although we are considering buying shares in Calpol with the amount that we attempt to ameliorate it for him with this wonder-fluid). We cannot predict what the next side effect may be. We can only do what we can with the available information and make him as comfortable as possible, or distract when needed. It is a distressing time for him, and is equally distressing for us because we cannot stop it. But what we are now trying hard to do is accept the reality rather than chasing phantoms because it is out of our control and we want it to be something we can control.
Tuesday, 1 January 2013
Reflections
We have now passed from 2012, the year that I became a father, into 2013, the first year that I have begun as a father. Henry is now 8.5 months old, crawling, eating mostly what we do, standing, teething and doing a million other things. So what have I learnt?
Firstly, now that he is crawling, it does not matter how quick I am popping out of the room in the time it takes me to do X Henry will have travelled faster than a speeding bullet to the nearest available thing that I do not want him to play with. He is incredible and seems to move quicker when nobody is looking.
Secondly, I have given up being anywhere when I think I should be reasonably able to get there. Rule of thumb - if you think you will be somewhere by Y o'clock - say you'll be there at Y:30.
Thirdly, it is hard to describe how precious his sleep is to me. When he doesn't sleep, guess who else doesn't? (the answer is anybody staying in the same house as him). So Emily and I do anything we can to keep him sleeping at night - obviously we don't induce comas during the day. I have become Olympic standard at the 'up-the-stairs' dash, followed by a Bourne level of spycraft in getting into his bedroom undetected, followed by back patting specifically designed to clear wind yet be a comforting, soothing presence. This may sound amusing, but if I could bottle the successful attempts, I would be a millionaire.
Fourthly, I will merrily do the most moronic things to get him to laugh. I will then video me being a moron and willingly show this film in public because, frankly, I can think of nothing more amazing than Henry giggling. I have also been heartily impressed by my friends' and colleagues' patience with me.
Fifthly, no matter what item of baby equipment you buy, if you have not had a chance to test-drive a friend's version, you will find it irritating and want to replace it within approximately four weeks of buying it. This is particularly true of prams...
Sixthly, the rate that he grows is alarming. I now have six vacuum packed bags of clothes in the loft, some of which he never got to wear because he grew so quick. This rate of growth does not appear to be in any danger of slowing any time soon and no matter how many clothes you think you have, there will be always be some essential item that you never have enough of (ours seems to be vests).
Seventhly, muslin cloths are a close challenger for the wheel in terms of most useful invention ever.
Eighthly, becoming a parent introduces you to a club that you did not know existed before you had a child. We have just seen in the new year with friends that we did not even know at the last new year. Having a child creates a common thread with people that you may never have spoken to previously, and unites you in the tears, jubilation and day-to-day survival that raising a child creates. It is a wonderful club to be a part of and I would recommend it...
...providing, at number 9, you have some dedicated support in your corner. Neither Emily nor I could have done this without each other, and may have had a nervous breakdown if not for our parents and friends. It is impossible to describe how amazing becoming a parent is, yet how utterly unprepared you will be. It is the hardest thing either of us have ever had to do. Yet, it is by far the most incredible.
And, finally, no matter how closely you watch your child, they disappear in front of your eyes, and they are always one step ahead. But it is mightly fun to try and second guess what they will do next - they never fail to surprise, and more often than not, the surprise is delightful. Unless it's a nappy. That is rarely pleasant.
Happy new year everybody!
Firstly, now that he is crawling, it does not matter how quick I am popping out of the room in the time it takes me to do X Henry will have travelled faster than a speeding bullet to the nearest available thing that I do not want him to play with. He is incredible and seems to move quicker when nobody is looking.
Secondly, I have given up being anywhere when I think I should be reasonably able to get there. Rule of thumb - if you think you will be somewhere by Y o'clock - say you'll be there at Y:30.
Thirdly, it is hard to describe how precious his sleep is to me. When he doesn't sleep, guess who else doesn't? (the answer is anybody staying in the same house as him). So Emily and I do anything we can to keep him sleeping at night - obviously we don't induce comas during the day. I have become Olympic standard at the 'up-the-stairs' dash, followed by a Bourne level of spycraft in getting into his bedroom undetected, followed by back patting specifically designed to clear wind yet be a comforting, soothing presence. This may sound amusing, but if I could bottle the successful attempts, I would be a millionaire.
Fourthly, I will merrily do the most moronic things to get him to laugh. I will then video me being a moron and willingly show this film in public because, frankly, I can think of nothing more amazing than Henry giggling. I have also been heartily impressed by my friends' and colleagues' patience with me.
Fifthly, no matter what item of baby equipment you buy, if you have not had a chance to test-drive a friend's version, you will find it irritating and want to replace it within approximately four weeks of buying it. This is particularly true of prams...
Sixthly, the rate that he grows is alarming. I now have six vacuum packed bags of clothes in the loft, some of which he never got to wear because he grew so quick. This rate of growth does not appear to be in any danger of slowing any time soon and no matter how many clothes you think you have, there will be always be some essential item that you never have enough of (ours seems to be vests).
Seventhly, muslin cloths are a close challenger for the wheel in terms of most useful invention ever.
Eighthly, becoming a parent introduces you to a club that you did not know existed before you had a child. We have just seen in the new year with friends that we did not even know at the last new year. Having a child creates a common thread with people that you may never have spoken to previously, and unites you in the tears, jubilation and day-to-day survival that raising a child creates. It is a wonderful club to be a part of and I would recommend it...
...providing, at number 9, you have some dedicated support in your corner. Neither Emily nor I could have done this without each other, and may have had a nervous breakdown if not for our parents and friends. It is impossible to describe how amazing becoming a parent is, yet how utterly unprepared you will be. It is the hardest thing either of us have ever had to do. Yet, it is by far the most incredible.
And, finally, no matter how closely you watch your child, they disappear in front of your eyes, and they are always one step ahead. But it is mightly fun to try and second guess what they will do next - they never fail to surprise, and more often than not, the surprise is delightful. Unless it's a nappy. That is rarely pleasant.
Happy new year everybody!
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
Everything hurts (I mean changes)
I have just returned from my work Christmas night out. A meal and some drinks. How lovely and inoffensive.
Or is it? I'm a teensiest bit drunk. I had no intention of this, but largely due to an administrative balls-up a pile of free wine arrived.
This means a drunk daddy. Not good.
People wanted to see Henry. I don't blame them, he's awesome! But I invited people for a lift. Mistake 1.
I then tried to calm him using standard dad tricks. Mistake 2.
I then offered a lift home to a friend. Mistake 3.
All in all...nice one dadhead.
But...I am home because of him, because gaining friendships paled into significance next to him. Drinking is attractive. He is more so. Life has changed, I'm playing catch up, but I will never stop running for him.
Night.
Or is it? I'm a teensiest bit drunk. I had no intention of this, but largely due to an administrative balls-up a pile of free wine arrived.
This means a drunk daddy. Not good.
People wanted to see Henry. I don't blame them, he's awesome! But I invited people for a lift. Mistake 1.
I then tried to calm him using standard dad tricks. Mistake 2.
I then offered a lift home to a friend. Mistake 3.
All in all...nice one dadhead.
But...I am home because of him, because gaining friendships paled into significance next to him. Drinking is attractive. He is more so. Life has changed, I'm playing catch up, but I will never stop running for him.
Night.
Sunday, 16 December 2012
Teething and late nights
So it's 12:30 on a Saturday night and I have just spent the last half hour trying to convince Henry that going back to sleep is the right choice to make. I failed. At times like this there is only one thing that works - cue supermummy with her breasts of nectar.
I am making light of this because the alternative is despair. This has been going on for weeks now, and if the usual pattern is to be expected we will be up another two times between now and when we get up with him between 7 and 8am. It is exhausting, frustrating and stressful. After failing in my endeavours I came back to bed realising I felt targeted by him, that he wasn't helpless and somehow he was choosing to do this to me. Obviously he isn't and the rational part of my mind was telling me to stop being such a pillock, but for a couple of minutes the irrational side was on top.
"Why won't he sleep? Why is he doing this to us?"
led to:
"What are we doing that is so wrong?"
Maybe we are doing something wrong. We are responsive parents, rarely leave him to cry for long. Perhaps this is a rod for our own backs, but it doesn't even feel like a choice as the alternative is inconceivable to us.
The likely culprit is a tooth. Or possibly teeth, we are not sure yet. But it leaves me worrying - he has a whole mouthful of piano keys yet to sprout, how long is it going to be like this?
Unfortunately, for us, only time will tell.
I am making light of this because the alternative is despair. This has been going on for weeks now, and if the usual pattern is to be expected we will be up another two times between now and when we get up with him between 7 and 8am. It is exhausting, frustrating and stressful. After failing in my endeavours I came back to bed realising I felt targeted by him, that he wasn't helpless and somehow he was choosing to do this to me. Obviously he isn't and the rational part of my mind was telling me to stop being such a pillock, but for a couple of minutes the irrational side was on top.
"Why won't he sleep? Why is he doing this to us?"
led to:
"What are we doing that is so wrong?"
Maybe we are doing something wrong. We are responsive parents, rarely leave him to cry for long. Perhaps this is a rod for our own backs, but it doesn't even feel like a choice as the alternative is inconceivable to us.
The likely culprit is a tooth. Or possibly teeth, we are not sure yet. But it leaves me worrying - he has a whole mouthful of piano keys yet to sprout, how long is it going to be like this?
Unfortunately, for us, only time will tell.
Monday, 10 December 2012
All I want for Christmas are my two front teeth
Time marches on. Our last two weeks have been amongst the hardest since Henry was born. And today, the culprit, emerged from his gums like some ivory flag, proudly marking the reason for all the upset. Henry has not had a good time of it cutting his first tooth, and for the last weeks has had regular doses of ibuprofen, paracetomol and Bonjela. His appetite has been affected, sleep cycle and general happiness (we are very lucky and he is normally a cheerful wee soul). But perhaps now he can rest a bit? We hope so, because a tired, cranky Henry leads to two very tired parents. Again and again I reminded of how difficult this would be if I didn't even have a partner to share the burden with. Single parenting is not an easy choice I imagine. If, of course, it is ever a choice.
And what else has changed in life in recent times? Stinkpig is now independently mobile. That's right adults, lock up anything you don't want chewed, slapped, pulled or slobbered on because it is now likely to be within his reach. And if it is not within his reach? Why, he will just stand up and attempt to bring it within his reach! Henry is now crawling, and is on the verge of walking as he shuffles round various pieces of furniture.
This has led to new highs of parental guilt. I challenge anybody living in an everyday home, looking after a newly moving child to protect them from knocks, bangs and scrapes. In the last week, and only with me, he has:
"Oooooo...a tall thing. I wonder what tastes like that?"
BANG!
"Owwwwwwwww - where are those people that supply the food and the wet wipes? Ah, there they are...I have hurt myself, I feel like cryin...why are you laughing? Why is that funny? Why are you bouncing me up and down? I've just banged my head, I don't feel like dancing. Actually, this is quite fun...more, more! Oooooo...what's that tall thing?"
If you have a newly crawling child - good luck. Life is about to get interesting*.
(* for interesting read a terrifyingly stark reminder of how incapable you are of not only keeping a tiny baby safe but also how untterly incompetent you are at predicting, in a home that you have likely lived in for years, what will be of interest and pose a risk to said infant.)
And what else has changed in life in recent times? Stinkpig is now independently mobile. That's right adults, lock up anything you don't want chewed, slapped, pulled or slobbered on because it is now likely to be within his reach. And if it is not within his reach? Why, he will just stand up and attempt to bring it within his reach! Henry is now crawling, and is on the verge of walking as he shuffles round various pieces of furniture.
This has led to new highs of parental guilt. I challenge anybody living in an everyday home, looking after a newly moving child to protect them from knocks, bangs and scrapes. In the last week, and only with me, he has:
- had a lump under his eye where he slipped in the bath (he even bloody crawls in that), banged his head off the side and slipped momentarily under the water. I have never moved so quick, very nearly cracking ribs in the process of pulling him out of the water.
- pulled a pan rack, complete with pans, down. It was only by sheer luck that it bounced beside him rather than on him.
- within the space of two minutes slipped three times on the kitchen floor and banged his head.
- slipped pulling himself the kitchen cupboard resulted in another banged head.
- trapped his hand under the pan while his other hand pushes down on it to lever himself into a standing position.
- pulled a cola bottle over onto his hand.
- pulled the bin down on top of himself.
"Oooooo...a tall thing. I wonder what tastes like that?"
BANG!
"Owwwwwwwww - where are those people that supply the food and the wet wipes? Ah, there they are...I have hurt myself, I feel like cryin...why are you laughing? Why is that funny? Why are you bouncing me up and down? I've just banged my head, I don't feel like dancing. Actually, this is quite fun...more, more! Oooooo...what's that tall thing?"
If you have a newly crawling child - good luck. Life is about to get interesting*.
(* for interesting read a terrifyingly stark reminder of how incapable you are of not only keeping a tiny baby safe but also how untterly incompetent you are at predicting, in a home that you have likely lived in for years, what will be of interest and pose a risk to said infant.)
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