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!

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.

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.

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.)