Bananas

I learnt three new things today.

The first was after I told a couple of work colleagues about how hard it often was to get Jamie off to sleep, particularly after he'd woken up in the night.

"I used to put my daughter in the car and drive her around until she nodded off," said one of them. "I remember taking her out once at 2am."

"My sister does that with one of her kids," said my other friend. A common approach then and most bizarre.

But not as bizarre as the next discovery I made. I was talking to a local businessman who, for an entire lifetime, has presided over a very successful paint firm.

We were discussing the Prince Charles "Sooty" controversy which broke today, off the back of the Prince Harry row which was in the Sunday papers.

"We used to sell a paint called 'nigger brown,'" said the man who, I can assure you, doesn't have a racist bone in his body. "It seems almost unbelievable these days, and understandably so, but a lot has changed since then."

And as an aside, a little research this evening unearthed the following related passage on Wikipedia:

"Historically, British people would often describe a dark shade of brown as 'nigger brown,' but this and all other uses of the word 'nigger' have long since been considered offensive in Britain."

The things you learn.

The final little piece of knowledge gleaned today was that it's not a good idea to feed Jamie bananas immediately before he is due to go to bed.

Coming back to the catalyst for my first discovery, he has been waking up a lot in the last couple of nights and it's been driving us barmy. So tonight, as well as his milk, we gave him some mashed banana.

And now, at shortly after 9pm - more than two hours past his bedtime - Vanessa is still trying to get him down. The above picture, taken only minutes ago, shows just how "sleepy" he is.

I wonder what I'll find out tomorrow.

Let's...play...darts!

I've been fairly industrious today once again with accomplishments to this point including going for a run, making breakfast, booking a family trip back to Northern Ireland and setting the ball rolling to sort out accommodation for Wee John and myself for our rugby weekend in Edinburgh in March.

The Whites have also been to the supermarket which was notable for one thing - Jamie had his first go at riding in one of the sit-up trolleys as opposed to those with the baby seat. He looked much happier and I would love to show you proof but I forgot my camera (it was bound to happen some time).

But back to Wee John, it was almost exactly a week ago that he headed off back to Wales after a few difficult days helping me look after the patients.

Most of our plans had to be abandoned but one did survive, albeit only very briefly: we had a game of darts.

John and I share a lot of interests, many of them both trivial and silly (it comes with being a boy) and one of these is watching darts on TV. Like most people of our age, we well remember "The Craft Cockney" Eric Bristow, Jocky Wilson, John Lowe and the other darts legends gracing our screens in the 1980s and early 1990s. Like snooker, darts was a big deal - evidenced, for example, by the success of Bullseye every Sunday teatime on ITV.

The sport then appeared to die away. That was until Sky Sports got their hands on it. The breakaway Professional Darts Corporation was formed to include most of the top players, lots of new televised tournaments were scheduled and the hype machine was put into overdrive.

Player nicknames are now mandatory as are personalised theme tunes as they walk to the stage, the matches are now held in huge indoor arenas and shouting and cheering are encouraged rather than frowned upon. In short, it's all got very silly and a whole lot of fun - making it very attractive to John and I.

I'm sorry to report that John "Quick Flight" Fulton defeated Barry "He's Sh*te" White by three legs to two. The picture above shows Quick Flight admiring my double 12 to win leg four.

I intend to do a lot of practicing before his next visit when I confidently predict he will take a hell of a beating - I'm planning to put the dart board up even higher.

Back in the new routine

I made a small number of mental New Year's resolutions last week - shortly after the above pic was taken (by me) - and then had to quickly park one or two of them whilst the White family illnesses ran their course. But this morning I had the chance to get one underway.

It's quite simple really, I want to make better use of my spare time. I'm a bit of a faffer, see. Rather than get on with doing the things I need to do and get them out of the way, I often p*ss about and either not do what I intended to do or take a whole day to do something which should have taken half an hour.

Anyway, after a sensible night last night, Jamie kicked off at around 2.30 this morning and again at 6.30. I managed to get a fair bit of sleep in between the tantrums but Vanessa got very little.

So, after he stirred the second time, I offered to take him downstairs for his breakfast and a bit of playing whilst Mrs W had some down time.

Following a quick change of nappy, I served him a feast of porridge, pear puree and milk topped off with some anti-biotics (let's call that a "special"). Then we mixed some telly - including cricket, Fantasy Island and The Green Green Grass (which was surprisingly good) - with time in his walker before we headed into the kitchen so I could make breakfast for Vanessa and me.

Vanessa arrived down bang on 9.30 and, just as we finished eating, Jamie decided to have a sleep - giving me about an hour and a half to work on my sitcom.

With Vanessa back in charge, I headed off to the gym for a much-needed workout before returning in time for lunch.

All of this detail might seem a bit dull but the key point is that I can't remember cramming so much into a single Saturday morning in my adult life.

The three of us were then supposed to go to the birthday party I mentioned last night but instead we decided to take a well-wrapped up Jamie out for a push instead. Hopefully no offence will be taken by the party host.

As for now, Jamie's bathtime isn't far away and, should we get him down without too much difficulty, we have a whole night ahead of us. Marvellous.

I'm now determined to be equally industrious tomorrow. And I probably will be. No, no - I will be!

F-F-F-FRIDAY!!!

The first week back after the Christmas holidays is always long and tiring, but none more so than this one.

I’m a total physical wreck after seven solid nights of even less sleep than normal, coupled with the obvious stress of watching a sick wife and child.

But, as I’ve said over the last couple of days, both are now much more like themselves and, given that I quite like them both, that can only be a good thing.

Tonight should hopefully be the calmest for a while – last night wasn’t calm by any means, but let’s not dwell – and tomorrow we’ll try and have some fun.

And, with the three of us due to attend one of Vanessa’s friend’s child’s first birthday party (that’s all I know), it should certainly be that (although possibly not deliberately).

Needless to say I’ll be reporting back.

Are we there yet?

After undoubtedly our most difficult week since those distant days when Jamie was born, it appears our little boy is finally coming back to us.

As predicted, it was another very long and troublesome night just gone. As such, first thing this morning we thought it best to get him back to the doctor who this time did what she should probably have done originally and prescribed some anti-biotics.

These plus a bucket load of Calpol. Plus his eye drops. Plus Bonjela. And his Snuffle Babe (aw!) and his Karvol to help him breathe. Oh, and the salt water for his eyes. And the baby wipes to clean them up during the night. And the Sudocrem to help heal the sore bits around them. And not forgetting his new teething ring. And his new teething beads. Well, they all appear to have done their collective thing. (Sadly, we haven't yet had a chance to try out the teething granules - which were only recommended to me at lunchtime today - but no doubt that chance will come).

As for now, I'm off to sort his bottles out before hitting the hay; needless to say Vanessa is already there and probably already asleep. Bring on the weekend.

Facts of life

The news on the patients is that Mummy is now fully anti-bioticked and on the way back to form.

Baby, meanwhile, still has a very sore eye, a sore mouth but his cough is getting better. I call that progress. Another long night is most likely, however.

Two new parenting facts learnt today.

FACT ONE: putting drops into the eyes of a six-month old baby (albeit, one built like an outhouse) is extremely difficult. The trick seems to be to wait until he is sleeping, pull down the bottom eyelid and squeeze the stuff in. However, he must be sleeping because if he's not, you might as well squeeze it into his nappy - or even your own pants - because you almost certainly won't get his eyes.

FACT TWO: Calpol is not as good as it used to be. Until a few months ago, I'd never heard of this legendary potion which soothes all of baby's ills. But almost every parent I've since mentioned it to has sworn by it, often literally,"it's ****ing great!" being a common response. But, it doesn't makes kids sleep as easily it once did.

And why is this, I hear you cry?

Answer: because, some years ago (according to my pharmacist friend), the manufacturers were forced to stop putting alcohol in it. I bet you didn't know that!

Stick with me and you'll learn stuff - FACT.

And it gets worse

After thinking yesterday that Vanessa's health was picking up, this morning she began to cough up blood and by early this afternoon she'd been diagnosed with tonsilitis - on top of her flu.

Meanwhile, Jamie's list of ailments is no shorter and the little guy is wrecked with it all.

Thanks to a very understanding Council Leader in Bradford, I was allowed to work from home this afternoon.

But whilst being closer to the "action" at least allows me to see the patients and do my bit with regard to patient care, I still feel something less than useless and often very stressed.

Perhaps tomorrow will bring better news for all although, given the way things have been going for us on recent days, I daren't risk holding my breath.

The eyes have it

Our house looked like a sick bay when I left (late) for work this morning.

Sadly, Jamie had another bad night although obviously we hope he is now one step closer to recovery. Meanwhile, Vanessa has improved much more although is probably still a few days away from getting back to normal.

The star of the show today was Grandma Judy.

We finally got Jamie down around midnight last night - the American football on Sky Sports did the trick - but he only lasted a couple of hours before we had to pump him full of milk and Calpol once again.

He was back up before six and quickly became quite distressed. With Vanessa advised to avoid physical contact with him, I brought him into bed with me and, after finally getting him to sleep, spent the next two and a half hours cuddling him and keeping him calm.

Judy then arrived after 9am at take over duties from me whilst I went to work. And she was a star a couple of hours later when she wheeled across to the local doctor for a proper diagnosis.

In short, he has a very heavy cold and cough - which was fairly obvious - and he is also experiencing teething pain.

However, the new development was that his sore eyes are as a result of conjunctivitis and he was given some drops to hopefully clear it up in the coming days.

Despite all his little problems - and he is an unhappy chappy at the moment - he is continuing to eat like a small pony. And he is even able to manage the odd half smile.

Hopefully by the weekend he'll be back to his best and - alongside a revitalised Mummy - the Whites will be able to have some fun again.

So far so sick

It's been a difficult few days - and apologies for not updating the site as a result.

Our New Year's Eve soiree went very well. Indeed, so well did it go that I simply couldn't summon up the energy to write about it on New Year's Day. But, anyway, much fun was had.

However, whilst John, Vicky and I had normal hangovers (Jamie wisely stayed off the hard stuff) which disappeared in time, Vanessa was still suffering by the time darkness arrived and continued to suffer into the next day. She's now about six times worse.

I phoned NHS Direct this morning and, after a 10-minute consultation with a nurse, a viral infection was diagnosed - one that could last up to ten days.

Meanwhile, Jamie is into his own third day of sickness. He's coughing very sorely, he's sneezing and his little eyes are streaming constantly. And, as (bad) luck would have it, he's also begun to have teething pains.

We're dosing him up with Calpol but I fear that at least another couple of difficult nights lie ahead. Very hard to watch.

As you might imagine, these happenings put something of a dampener on our New Year plans.

With my mate John up, we had intended to go into Leeds on Friday, watch rugby on Saturday afternoon and then go out for a big dinner with other friends on Saturday night. All of this had to be cancelled, leaving poor John to make do with a couple of swift visits with me to a local bar as his first excursions into the outside world in 2009.

He only left a little while ago and has been complete trooper, particularly yesterday when he and I looked after Jamie all day.

Hopefully the next 51 and a half weeks will bring us all better fortune.

The boy has said it

It's 5.30pm, Uncle John and Auntie Vickie are here and the Top of the Pops New Year's Eve Special is about to start, so I don't have long.

We've got our improvised party hats, lots of drink, our little man and we're intending to party 'til midnight. And then we'll probably go to bed as we're getting quite old now.

If you're reading this before Big Ben strikes 12, I hope you have a great night.

And if you're reading it after the event, I hope you had one.

But in all cases I would like to wish you from the bottom of my Guinness glass (which is about to be quickly filled):

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Celtic moods

I'm back on holiday (and, just as I write that, Holiday by Madonna has come on the radio behind me - how bizarre is that?!)

Yes, after two relatively productive days of working from home, it's after 5pm and I'm free to...look after Jamie.

And, boy, is he taking some looking after at the moment.

My time sitting at my lap top over the last couple of days has been regularly interrupted by dashes to help Vanessa cheer up a particularly grumpy little man.

He's eating fine, he's got a bit of a cold but really not that bad, and he slept almost 13 hours last night broken only by a milk break at 4.30 am. And yet, he's cranky.

Don't get me wrong, he still has his fun moments and even gave me a kiss this morning.

Sadly, it was a Glasgow kiss - i.e. he headbutted me in the mouth - but I'm fairly sure it was accidental.

Hopefully tomorrow's arrival of Uncle John and Auntie Vicky for our New Year's Eve dinner party will cheer him up.

After all, I've been looking forward to 2009.

He's got the look

I'm on my lunch break in the middle of the first of two days "working from home" - and I genuinely am so, please, down with your cynicism!

However, after his breakfast, I had the chance to indulge in one of my favourite games: "Dress Up Jamie." You may have noticed that Vanessa and I like to play this game a lot.

First up was a footballer or, more specifically, Brazilian superstar Ronaldinho. Earlier this year, my mum picked Jamie up his very own baby Barcelona kit complete with Ronaldinho's name and number. Other than Jamie's gut, I think he's a dead ringer for the long-haired, big-toothed Samba King.

Then, just for the laugh like, I thought it might be fun to dress him up as a chav.

Is there no look this young man can't pull off? (Clearly I'm aware that he will get me back one day - and quite right too).

Finding a gift for the little 'un

I'm about to take my life in my hands by going sales shopping in Leeds.

I only ever go shopping two or three times a year with the post-Christmas sales tending to be one such occasion.

And I generally come back with three or four work shirts, two ties and a jumper - all of which look exactly the same as what I already have, only newer. But, in my book, it has to be done.

However, today I've been given a very special task. Jamie wants me to pick out a present for his Uncle John (pictured above with his sisters ).

Regular readers will know of Uncle John, his small stature balanced up by his huge enthusiasm (and wallet).

He's due to drive up here from Cardiff on New Year's Eve to spend a few days with us - plus a couple more - and you'll be able to read all about it (lucky you).

But that's only if I return from the shops in one piece, which is not guaranteed.

If I don't make it, it's been fun.

The easy life

One thing I've learnt about being a working father is that, at weekends and on days off, the truth of what it's really like to look after a baby quickly kicks in.

During a normal week, I tend to breeze into the house around 6pm to be greeted by a big smile from my boy. Then, after 10 minutes of playing, I take him for his bath if it's bath night or wipe him down if it's not, get him into his sleepsuit and give him his last feed. Finally, at 7pm, it's time to put him in his cot or - if he's being particularly restless - hand him to Vanessa to do the job for me.

My role is not that difficult at all.

However, on Saturdays, Sundays and holidays, my elevated status as joint full-time babyminder is something of a rude awakening - particularly when Vanessa nips out for an hour like she did this morning.

As she left to see what delights she could find in the Marks & Spencer sale, Jamie was showing off his new trick of playing with a toy whilst sitting up unaided. What a talented boy he is.

But, as soon as Mummy had departed the scene, moderate carnage ensued.

Daddy had hoped to get showered and changed. Unfortunately, this didn't particularly suit Jamie who wanted absolute attention. Every time Daddy made to leave the room or even looked away, angel boy made clear that this was way below standard and certainly unacceptable to him.

In the end, I had to make to do with a facewash and a quick change into my gym stuff ready for a visit to Pudsey Leisure Centre later in the day.

Whilst I wasn't entitled to a proper wash, Jamie very much was - courtesy of Daddy - plus massage, new clothes, face moisturiser and hair brush. Young men should expect to look their best.

Then it was downstairs for a play. I produced several toys but none were greeted with much enthusiasm. Indeed, one was greeted with some vomit - all over Daddy.

I then tried him in his walker and this worked. However, the living room was quickly found to be too small so, for the next 20-odd minutes, he raced up and down the hallway instead, loving every minute, before suddenly deciding he'd had enough and wanted out.

The reason was obviously as he had tiredness written all over his face. But, as I say, I've never been very good at getting him to nod off when he's not in the best of form so it was going to be a bit of an effort. Plus, I was ever so slightly terrified

Thankfully, a combination of the dimming of lights, his mobile, whispering and sheer exhaustion on his part saw him finally go to sleep after about 15 minutes - slightly before Vanessa walked back in the door.

But it's still true - daddies like me have it easy.

So that was Christmas

Jamie's now had his first Christmas Day and is already looking forward to the next one.

His special guests - Grandma Judy, Grandad Mike, Auntie Hannah, Uncle Dave and Cousin Oliver - arrived on time, showered him with gifts and didn't leave too much of a mess. What more could a baby ask for?

Although he didn't have any turkey - lovingly prepared by a stressed Daddy who'd never cooked one before - he did have some liquidised sprouts and parsnips whipped up by Mummy. He already thinks he might have preferred the turkey.

The there were only three arguable downsides to the occasion.

The first - although hardly a shock - was that Uncle Dave didn't shut up from start to finish. Although Jamie doesn't yet understand every word of English, his initial take on things was that Uncle Dave never seemed to say anything of either interest or relevance to either babies or adults and that he also talked very loud.

Second, Jamie cried this morning and said he'd had a nightmare that he was trapped in a house with Uncle Dave. Mummy and Daddy quickly clarified that he hadn't been having a nightmare, that Uncle Dave had in fact stayed overnight along with Auntie Hannah and Cousin Oliver but that he would be leaving shortly and certainly wouldn't be offered breakfast.

The final perceived negative from Jamie's point of view was Mummy and Daddy's insistence that he dressed up as a Christmas elf. "Cousin Oliver is wearing very sensible clothing," protested Jamie. "He hasn't been made to look ridiculous in front of all these people. Why am I always the one who has to stick out?" However, after Daddy explained that everyone had to dress up as an elf on their first Christmas Day, Jamie felt reassured and got much more into the party spirit.

Well done him (and thanks to our guests).

He came!

Santa Claus has a brand new number one fan.

The big man arrived sometime after 3am this morning and was very kind to little Jamie White.

He left a rocker / trekker thingy which you can see being demonstrated above (look, no hands), a wide selection of rattly items, a car dashboard which will allow Jamie to do a bit of backseat driving and some fab building blocks for him to build his own house when he decides to move out. All very exciting.

And Santa could not have picked a better day to officially confirm Jamie as a good little boy (other than the fact that it is Christmas Day, obviously). Because you'll never guess what...

For the first time ever, ever, ever....he slept through!

We took him to the carol service last night where, given that he knew everyone was looking at him, he behaved like a choir boy (see below) although we did have to keep reminding him that it's very hard to sing with your dummy in. He then took half a bottle of milk at Grandma Judy and Grandad Mike's house before finishing it off at home, albeit about an hour later than normal.

But after Daddy awoke on the sofa with a sore head at 3am to leave space for Santa to leave Jamie's presents, he checked on junior who, although a little on the restless side, was still asleep.

He didn't stir again for another three hours and Mummy and Daddy are rightly very proud.

All the guests - plus Dagenham Dave who was coming whether he received an invitation or not - are due to arrive at the Whites in less than three hours, so it's time to get a move on.

But the good news is - Jamie's is very much enjoying his first Christmas.

HO! HO! HO!

I hope all your preparations are going well for the big day.

The Whites are hosting Grandma Judy, Grandad Mike, Auntie Hannah, Uncle Daggers and Cousin Oliver tomorrow but - as only the second most important man in our house - I have absolutely no idea whether our preparations are going well or not.

And I have a whole day's work to get through today before I get anywhere close to finding out.

Christmas for us really begins this evening when we are due to attend a traditional carol service in Horsforth.

Younger worshippers are particularly welcome at the gathering and I'm sure Jamie would be quite happy for me to tell you he's quite looking forward to it.

The idea of all that music, the big crowd and an open invitation to make as much noise as possible is simply too good to miss.

And there's also the matter of his special Christmas Eve outfit.

Auntie Vicky bought him this a few weeks ago and it fits very nicely over his sleepsuit - meaning it can be stripped off and he can go straight to sleep as soon as we get home.

And, as all good little children know, the sooner they go to sleep, the sooner it is that Santa Claus arrives.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Happy Half Birthday, son

Jamie is exactly six months' old today, or "a half" in baby terms.

When he gets a bit older and begins to understand these things a little better, he'll no doubt start to break the year down into quarters. We've all been there.

But then all the quarters begin to add up, we turn 30 or more and we wonder where the time went.

Being a half must surely carry with it increased responsibilities although I can't, for the life of me, think what they are.

Perhaps I'll delay the "father and son coming of age chat" for a little while longer.

Maybe for another 14 years or so.

And a half.

Christmas Party

I've just been to my office Christmas party - and it didn't quite work out.

Okay, so it was - as ever - billed as our Christmas lunch. But, in previous years, we've stayed out all day and I've made it home on the last train - just.

I've then stopped off at the 24-hour Asda, en route from the station, bought a family-sized pie, put it in the oven and - once cooked - dropped it on the floor. It's a tradition I've become quite fond of.

I expected more of the same today but unfortunately it wasn't to be.

First we had a series of cry offs. Then we ended up in a restaurant without a licence. And in said restaurant, we were crammed into a corner and, whilst the food was good, there wasn't a cracker to be pulled never mind a Christmas tune to be hummed along to. And, less the two hours later, we were back at our desks.

It's such a shame we'll be forced to wait another 52 weeks for the next gathering.

To be fair, the picture I paint is more bleak then the reality.

For one, a quick-thinking councillor and I got around the dryness of the restaurant by nipping to the offy up the road.

And the company was good, although there was still the whiff of the air one tends to find after the deceased has been buried; "yes, we'll have a quick sandwich but we'd really need to be off."

Some of us who returned to the office did at least crack open a couple of cans of beer when we got there. But, in truth, the horse had long since died so there was little point in hopping up and down on the poor nag's tail.

Slightly on the up side, tonight is Coronation Street night and there are also two episodes of Gavin and Stacey - which I've only just discovered - on the other side. Plus there's no danger of me being arrested for doing something silly.

But it still seems like a bit of a wasted opportunity.

Guarding the booty

We went on a family trip to the new Tesco in nearby Bramley today (gosh, we Whites know how to live).

Our visit was notable for two reasons:

1. You could buy three boxes of Guinness for £20 (needless to day it was an option Daddy took up) and


2. It was probably Jamie's last journey around a supermarket in a trolley equipped with a plastic baby seat

The photograph makes it obvious why - he's simply too enormous these days.

But this afternoon it was worth the effort in squeezing him in; there wasn't a lot of Guinness left and I wanted to make sure my three boxes were safe from other shoppers.

I mean, would you steal a drink from this baby?