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!

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.

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

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

• 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.

The list could probably carry on.  And that is just with me. His mum could probably add an even longer list (because she his with him more, not because she less competent than me).  Being a baby is an extreme sport; being a parent is a continuous test of how good are your risk assessment skills and how much guilt is it possible to feel without breaking down into a gibbering, weeping wreck.  And, as a parent, the standard response is to quickly pick him up, laughing, and pretending it's all a game.  What a thoroughly confusing approach for the child!

"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.)

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.

Challenges

I've been talking a lot recently about the role of the father and the challenges we face with various people. Henry is now at a point where, on occasion, only mummy will do. He can become rapidly inconsolable by anything apart from a cuddle with Emily. This can be particularly difficult for the hands-on dad, like I am trying to be. When you want to be a part of the parenting and do your very best to meet your child's needs it can be quite an emotional challenge to recognise those times when you're not enough. And clearly Henry isn't doing this to hurt, the mother baby bond is vital and well-documented. And a generation or so ago this wouldn't have been an issue, there was less expectation, I think, on dads to be active parents. The hands-on dad was the exception, not the norm.

However, times have changed and people do expect more of dads - although I think I pressure myself more than society expects of me. This is what leads to the difficulty. I want to be able to do it, but sometimes I am just not what he wants. I can imagine at this stage it is tricky for dads to maintain the involvement, it can be difficult to continue when you feel you're having to hand over to mummy each time. I am fortunate that I've got a chunk of time off work now and can be about a lot more and strengthen the relationship. For dads that don't have that opportunity it must be very tough and I would question what support, or consideration, they get. My mum talked about my dad, who was an exception but also was in the navy so had to be away for long periods, and how she hadn't considered what it would have been like coming back from months away to a child that wanted mummy. I cannot imagine how difficult that would have been - I am sure all he wanted was hugs and smiles and to not put me down, yet I imagine I had other ideas when young.

The importance of the relationship both parents have with a child is important, and I think preparing dads for these trials would be beneficial.

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.

Oh, they grow up so fast!

Henry is at an amazing stage. He smiles, beginning to have good head control, and, amazingly, babbles away in full conversations with us. We get to kiss him all over and have bath times with him. If he gets crabby he goes up onto a shoulder (although this has resulted in a number of top changes) and gets taken for a walk - around the garden is a sure fire calmer for all but the most serious of ailments.

I was standing in the shower this morning thinking about all of this and worrying, again, about him growing up and only getting to experience those moments in my memories.

It actually offered me some insight into why people, even in these modern times, have large families. These days are so precious with Henry, dependent on us and attachments emerging. I am tremendously excited about all that is to come, but these few months where a silly noise is enough to get a smile (and I will do ANYTHING for one of his smiles), a kiss is enough to get a giggle, he looks for you as you leave and is fascinated by his own hands, are so short. When he is a bit older, moving around and talking I know I will miss these days. I'm fairly sure I will feel like this at every stage of his life. But there does seem to be something particularly precious about these first few months.

A biological imperative? Probably. Do I care if it is? Certainly not! My little boy is waiting for a silly voice and a kiss on the lips - there are more important things to be worried about!

Respect and hardwork

Young single parents catch a lot of flack in our media, which results in a public rejection of them. My personal opinion is that we should, as a society, criticise ourselves slightly more than the products of a systemic issue. These young people have suffered, generally, a generational lack of aspiration and becoming a parent is all they know.

However, that is not what I want to focus on. Rather I respect anybody that attempts to raise a child by themselves. I cannot imagine bringing Henry up without the support of my wife; I think she would echo the sentiment. It is such hard work. I admire my wife greatly for getting through the day independently. Getting through life independently would be inconceivable.

We have some friends who need to care for their children (plural!) by themselves frequently and frankly Emily and I are amazed by them. We have one child, we are always late and it is a mission that requires a level of planning that would impress special forces to get out of the house. How these (bionic) friends of ours manage is beyond me. My hope it is like driving. At first you cannot imagine how you can lift the clutch pedal, whilst pushing down on the throttle and simultaneously checking your mirrors. It becomes natural and sub-conscious but at first it feels clumsy, awkward and you always forget to take the handbrake off.

So rather than denigrate single parents we should recognising what hard work it is - it is probably much harder than they realised, so let us not add insult to injury through generalisations and criticisms.

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!