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.

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!

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

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:

1. a wheat allergy
2. eating too late
3. eating too early
4. eating too much
5. yoghurt is to blame
6. yoghurt makes things better
7. drinking bath water
8. not moving around enough after dinner
9. being fed too quickly

We have come to the realisation that none of these are likely - it is simply a by-product of the teeth-growing process.  And, o' my, there are some by-products.  Flushed, temperature, off his food, wind, crabbiness, discomfort, buckets of saliva, runny bottom, constipation...the list is potentially endless.

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.

Eating everything

Joy of joys Henry has now joined us at the dinner table (in his brand spanking new highchair that met the exacting specifications of my wife and simply could not be purchased from eBay - much like our pram, which she now hates.  Not that I'm bitter, you understand) for his evening meal.

The magical six month mark has been reached, so the kitchen is now open and he is joining the world of proper food.  Which has been slightly pureed and cooked without salt or any spices that might be too hot.  (Or dried chickpeas that are two years out of date and have been included because his dad is too tight to throw anything away and thought they would be ok.  You might want to read my previous post for the likely fall out of this.)  But apart from these slight stipulations, he is now enjoying a range of foods.

This is absolutely amazing.

I cannot describe how awesome (and I mean that in the dictionary sense) I find feeding my son food that I have cooked for the family and he appears to be enjoying.  Food is important to me and, thus, it is important to me that he enjoys it.  And boy does he enjoy it!  I love it.  We often have breakfast together to try and give mummy a little bit of a lie in and it is the most special moment of my day.

However...

I am finding the mess somewhat difficult to deal with.  Weaning has coincided with a streak of independence and developing hand-eye co-ordination that can whip food off a casually wielded spoon in a blink of an eye.  Does that food make it to his mouth?

Of course not.  It makes it just about everywhere but, smearing across whatever he is wearing, his chair, the table, his face, bits squeezed between his fingers, down his legs, on the floor.  Daddy struggles with this.  A lot.  Mummy does not appear to have a problem with it.

Daddy also struggles with occasional lumps.  Mummy, again, is considerably better at this.  I have, occasionally, needed to leave the room as he chews something a bit troublesome as my instinct is to whip him out of his chair and perform a paediatric heimlich manoeuvre on him.  Not wanting to communicate this sphincter-tightening anxiety to him and develop a fussy eater I instead extricate myself from the situation when it becomes too much to bear.  Henry, thankfully, remains oblivious to this and has happily gobbled up anything he can get his sticky little mitts on.  Daddy, meanwhile, has bought shares in antibacterial wipes.

Hospital...again.

Henry turned six months today.  He spent the last night of his first half year at A&E.  Vomiting.

There is nothing more worrying, nothing that induces more of a sense of utter helplessness, than watching your poorly baby knowing there is nothing you can do about it.  Between being sick he appeared largely fine, he had no temperature, he was not sore, no rash, not crying, and, generally, himself.  Apart, of course, from the oral excretions.

Which highlights for me how utterly illogical being a parent is.  It matters not what you know to be true, what you deem to be ok for you, what the rational part of your brain tells you.  When there is something wrong with your child you enter a Twilight Zone of paranoia and great, galloping leaps of thought that in the cold light of a day when considering ANYTHING else you would scoff loudly at people for coming to those conclusions.

As it happens, Henry is now, and was rather quickly last night too, considerably better.  It is always a highlight, I am finding, when a highly qualified and pleasant medical professional wakes up your son - who has just nodded off because, as far as you are concerned, he could be at death's door and is trying to eke out some last moments of comfort - and proceeds to examine him, eliciting great beaming smiles from your hapless infant as he does so. 

"Ah, he would appear to be considerably better, doctor.  Sorry to waste your time.  We'll just get our coats."

I am fairly sure these Health heroes see this frequently.  And whilst on the topic, I would like to praise how incredible it is look up information on the NHS Direct website, subsequently speak to somebody on the phone, and an hour later be seeing a nurse followed by a doctor, and all for the pittance I pay out of my monthly salary.  The NHS is a wonderful institution and the two times I have needed to visit with Henry (and the countless times for myself) they have always provided an excellent service and do so thousands of times a day.  Like social workers we only hear about it when it goes wrong - it goes right an awful lot more.

Thank you to all those that helped us last night.  As parents we felt listened to (vital) and reassured (immeasurably vital).  My wife still slept on his floor through the night, but as we hoped he is much better today and we have made it through to tonight without falling asleep, whilst Henry sleeps upstairs utterly oblivious to the grey hairs that I have sprouted.

Tantrum?

In the past I have considered when does a child become a child - i.e. when do they move from simply a mass of cells into something with a consciousness?  I did not provide an answer, I am not sure there is one to be honest.

However, is there one for when a behavioural reaction becomes a tantrum?!  Friends of ours have ascribed their four week old screaming and kicking to a tantrum.  Emily and I do not think that's right.  One of the things that we have learnt since having Henry is that:

1)  You change your mind about everything you thought you would hold dear.
2)  Everybody, and I do mean everybody, has an opinion.  Be they friends, neighbours, passers-by, everybody think they know how it should be done.
3)  When you watch other people you think "ooo...I wouldn't have done that..."  In this, though see point 2 above!

But when does a tantrum become one?  We had a long chat about what the difference between a tantrum and a baby screaming was...we found it difficult to draw the line.  The issue is that they are both behavioural expressions of when something is wrong.  What we think the crux of the matter is, is the ability to access other strategies, such as talking about it, that are not available to a baby.  But it is far from decided in our household.

It ain't always easy

Firstly, let me direct your attention to the Wonderland film that appeared on BBC recently.  It follows three dads (and bumps into another couple along the way) through the last few weeks of pregnancy and first few weeks of their new child's life.  Watch it here.  It is beautiful and moving.

Watching things like this, reflecting on the impending reality of our baby's arrival, always makes me miss my dad.  One of the most touching scenes in Wonderland is when James, who is pressuring himself into knowing everything and terryifying himself in the process, talks to his dad about how he knew what to do.  Obviously his dad didn't have books and films, he relied upon instincts and common sense.  There is a hole in my life as I can no longer have those conversations.  I feel so incredibly lucky that my dad showed me such a fine example of being a father, he was caring, attentive and proud of his family.  He was prepared to discuss emotions and was sensitive and supportive.  I just wish he was around to help me take those first steps.  I am also lucky that my father-in-law is a fine and caring man, so I do still have somebody I can talk to; he just isn't my dad.

And the other thing that I have not been prepared for is the strain it places on your pre-birth relationship.  Becoming a parent, let alone being one, is incredibly hard.  Massively difficult.  It is difficult to understand the changes being wrought in my wife's body, the tiredness, the hormonal chaos, plus her own nerves.  I honestly don't know how women do it, they have my utmost respect.  My wife has been incredible, and I probably don't tell her enough how much I admire her.  Yet two increasingly tired adults facing their own worries and trying not to burden the other can make it difficult to be close.  I'm not saying we are failing at it, but it has been surprisingly hard work and I don't think either of us expected it.

This feels like a dark post today.  It isn't, it's just that I have found myself reflecting on the difficulties and the harder emotional side of being a father.  It isn't always easy, but we are both still very excited by the prospect of being parents and welcoming our new child into the world.  I do not think anything can fully prepare you for what it means.  All the people in the world can tell you about the tiredness and the effort required, but until you live with it you don't understand it.  I know we haven't got our baby in our arms yet, so it is bound to get harder still, but the challenges do not simply begin when the baby has arrived.  I understand James's concern about 'getting it right' but I think Viktor had it right.  That kind of thinking starts you on a path that is ultimately futile and will make it worse for you.  You can never have all the information, and most of the information is simply that - information.  Babies don't come with user guides, nor should they.  All you can do is your best.  And I hope my best will be good enough, for my wife and baby.

Time to give my wife (who is my best friend, soulmate and has offered tireless support during the recent months despite everything that she is also going through) and bump a cuddle.

A pram, a pram, my kingdom for a pram

Finally, and with much stress and soul-searching, my wife listened to reason and went for the pram I said I liked months ago. 

We passed the 28 week mark yesterday and this has come with a large amount of panic for me - nursery not ready, no cot yet and no pram.  So 12 weeks before Junior's arrival time is planned for there was nothing to arrive to.  A second day it was then of vehicular experimentation and a brave quest through the baby shops.  Once more into the breach...

Buying a pram, gentlemen, is a nightmare.  And no single pram offers all the features or, more importantly, eliminates all of the irritants.  There are an absolute wealth of options and ask three different people and they will give you three different priorities that your pram simply must have.  Carrycot?  Check.  Parent-facing chair?  Check.  Car seat that fits to frame?  Check.  Folds down conveniently?  Nope.  Light?  Nope.  Everything is a compromise.  The models that were light, were flimsy, the ones that folded down well had fiddly clips, or rubbish carrycots.  Picking a pram is a continuous compromise - I challenge anybody to pick one that they are universally happy with.

And this week I was faced with another new (to me) phenomenon.  The 'everybody-tells-you-you-need-that-but-you-don't-however-X-is-essential' advice.  Everybody that has a baby, and even some that haven't, has an opinion on what is necessary and what is not.  And all the advice is well-meaning and gratefully received but so much of it is conflicting that for the first-time parent it can be somewhat bewildering.

I worry that people these days bury their instincts underneath advice, rhetoric and literature.  I recognise the security blanket that this offers and I will admit to wanting to read some books to help me out (Martin Seligman's Optimistic Child is top of my list), but I do believe I need to allow myself the chance to learn with my baby.  None of these books know my child; it is a journey that nobody can fully prepare me for and one that my wife and I will travel with the kiddie bean when it arrives.  There will be wrong turnings, dead ends and the occasional bump but for thousands of years parents and children have reached the destination of independent adulthood and I see no reason why we should be any different.

Brave words now.  Come back and ask me how I feel two weeks after birth day!