The Last Day

After almost four years, today was my last day as a stay-at-home dad. And we marked it with a day trip involving two of G's favourite activities: going swimming and eating ice cream.

We drove down to Nantwich to try the outdoor pool there for the first time. It was great, although the water felt a bit cold when the sun went in. I say water but it's actually brine, a bit of a surprise considering Nantwich's non-proximity to the coast. Not that it was a problem, in fact I think the salt content helped G's buoyancy a bit as she swam around very happily.

When we eventually got out and started walking back to where our bags were, she realised she was leaving wet footprints on the ground. So that was a game we had to play for a while. Which was fine, because we weren't in any hurry.

I'd thought ahead and brought a packed lunch, just the kind of valuable life skill I've learned over the last four years. And after eating it I thought we could head back via one of Cheshire's many farm shops for a go in the playground and, inevitably, an ice cream. G had chocolate, as she always does.

So that's about that. Next week I'm going back to work full-time, so I'll no longer be a stay-at-home parent. And besides, G's approaching the age when regular online updates of her life will pass from 'cute' to 'downright embarrassing'. So I think this is the best time to bring this blog to an end.

We've done all sorts since she was born, all 9lbs 15oz of her, in September 2009. There were the typical baby things, such as the vomiting at social occasions, the rage-crying and the swimming lessons, Then there were the less typical things, such as the TV appearances, the meeting with the Prime Minister and the brief involvement in a political scandal.

A lot of people have asked me whether I found the whole experience difficult. I sort of want to say yes, because I think that's what people expect to hear. But in reality, the answer is: no, not really. G slept through from ten weeks, always ate her food and has hardly ever been ill. When she started going to nursery part-time, she settled in fairly quickly. She likes her football and ballet classes on Saturdays, and is looking forward to being a big sister too.

I'd like to claim this is all because of my superior parenting ability, but to be honest I don't think I could have had it any easier.

Paddling Pool

It can't have escaped your attention that the weather is still dry, sunny and hot. In fact, it's the longest heatwave we've had since 2006, which means it's easily the best of G's short lifetime.

But far from being confused at the persistent presence of a giant yellow orb in the sky, she's been thoroughly enjoying the sun. We had the paddling pool out again this morning, as you can see (I put G's hat on after taking the photo, a sunburnt little girl is one way to guarantee me a proper telling off from her mum).

Mrs J went for her 20-week scan yesterday, and we're having another little girl. This should have the benefit of saving us a few quid, because Mrs J's now going to struggle to justify doing much shopping for new baby stuff. Much to her irritation, no doubt.

However, considering my general non-pink policy with G, I'm sort of tempted to festoon her little sister with pink when she appears. As a social experiment if nothing else. And if it gives Mrs J a convincing excuse to go to the shops, maybe it'll be better all round.

Outdoor Swimming

Continuing our recent tour of favourite places I've taken G over the last few years, we took advantage of the beautiful weekend weather by going across the Pennines to Hathersage and its lovely outdoor swimming pool. I've taken her every summer since she was little, so it's easy to see her progress from baby to toddler to last year's two-year-old.

On our past visits it hasn't always been as warm as it was on Sunday, but I made sure we got there in plenty of time so we didn't end up at the back of a huge queue. The pool itself was packed but we were in there for well over an hour, and G didn't want to get out at the end.

The whole scene was all so ideal I got to wondering why all towns don't have outdoor pools. As enjoyable as the drive over the Snake Pass is, it's not exactly convenient. I overheard two other people having just this conversation, and one said: "The problem is, we only get about two weekends like this a year". Few better ways to enjoy the ones we do get than by visiting a lido, though.

Holiday In France

We've been in France for a few days, visiting friends Andy and Heather who run the Alpine Ethos ski chalet in Meribel. This was actually my first time in France since a school trip to Paris in 1996, but if I was delighted to find that French breakfasts are still all about bread-and-chocolate in various combinations, you can imagine how G felt about discovering it for the first time. Some of the evidence of this can be seen in the photo above.

In an attempt to compensate for those breakfasts, we tried to do some of the outdoor activities you can do in the Alps when it's not snowing. Such as lake swimming. Despite snow still being visible on the peaks, the lake in Bozel was plenty warm enough to paddle around in, although G wasn't keen on doing anything more strenuous than a bit of splashing, as shown here (that's Mrs J's leg, in case you thought I'd developed a fetish for nail varnish).

Andy and Heather's greyhound Benny is one of the most pleasant and docile animals you could come across, which may offer a clue as to why his racing career never really got out of the stalls. G took to stroking/pestering him at every opportunity, even holding several one-sided conversations that he didn't really seem to engage with that much. Perhaps behind those eyes lies the mind of a competitor, still burning over how he could have been a contender, if it wasn't for that photo-finish in the 5:27 at Catford.

Talking of epic sporting contests, on a trip to Annecy, G played her first-ever game of crazy golf. She actually got straight into it, cheerily knocking the ball through all the obstacles and shouting "I did it!" whenever it eventually went into the holes. She also switched between the right-handed and left-handed styles, which may indicate a level of natural ability far beyond what us non-golfers can even begin to appreciate.

All very impressive for a two-year-old, although I chose to ignore her blatant cheating at every hole. Next time we'll play under real rules.

The Weekend

With Mrs J busy this weekend, I took G to London for a bit of a road trip and to catch up with some friends. To break the journey on the way down we stopped off for a swim at the Hathersage outdoor pool. Despite G's slightly apprehensive look before going in, the water was pleasantly warm. Or at least much warmer than the last time we went.

G didn't much fancy going to sleep in a strange room on the Saturday night, so ended up clambering into bed with me. This was fine for her, but I soon realised she was taking up the majority of the single bed, forcing me right up against the wall. It was like being a student again. Only, you know, with a toddler.

The following morning, she did her best to look completely blameless in our friends' kitchen:

We went to a nearby playground. G enjoyed running around the various equipment, but the dress Mrs J had given me to put her in was proving problematic. So, as you can see from this picture taken on the slide, I had to tuck the front of her dress into her nappy so she wouldn't trip over it going up steps. Classy.

We moved on to a barbecue being hosted by some other friends, which was doubling up as a joint birthday party. After a nap in the car on the way, G was on very good form by this point, and ate lots of the food. This was her attempt at eating a burger, although in typical style she showed more interest in the bun rather than the actual meat.

She didn't sleep much on the drive home, but thankfully for both of us I had a portable in-car DVD player with us, and a stack of Charlie and Lola episodes. I can now confirm that the portable in-car DVD player is one of the all-time great inventions. She was very tired but happy enough when we finally got home at about 10:30pm, and celebrated by sleeping for a good 12 hours.

"Don't want to get up" she said drowsily when I tried to rouse her at 10:30am this morning. Like I said, just like being a student again.

Posh Cutlery

Today was a repeat of a day trip we did a couple of years ago, when G was still a baby. We went over the Snake Pass to Hathersage in the Peak District, for a bit of outdoor swimming at the village lido, then a snack at the David Mellor factory café.

Everything in the café is a Mellor design, from the tables and chairs to the plates and salt cellars. He's best remembered for his cutlery though, and even the little knife and fork that came with G's children's meal were from the pen of the late design legend. G was obviously excited about this, as she attempted to use them on her sandwich. Until I told her it was ok to use her hands.

It was just as well she had a good lunch, because the swimming trip wasn't as successful. G enjoyed it for about five minutes, but I think the water was still a bit on the cold side for her, especially with a stiff wind off the Peak District moors. "Bye bye swimming pool" she pouted at me from behind her damp hair, as I tried vainly to interest her in another game of round-and-round-the-garden. Maybe we'll come again when it's sunny.

Swimming In The Sunshine

Often it's difficult to spot how fast your child is growing up. There's the occasional notable breakthrough, such as learning a new animal noise or reaching a previously-safe shelf with lots of valuables on it, but generally the progression is gradual. When you spend every day with a little one, you barely notice the differences.

So one of the best ways of checking is to compare new and old photos. Yesterday I took G for a day trip to Hathersage in the Peak District to visit the lido, and realised it was almost exactly a year to the day since I last did so. I blogged about it then, and I think it's fair to say she looks rather more grown-up in the picture above.

In fact, that swimming costume is now too small for her really, something I can confirm having struggled to squeeze her into it while dripping with sweat from the roasting hot sunshine. Actually it may not have been all that hot, but having been forced to spend Saturday in the house watching it drizzle all day, the contrast was quite something.

The pool itself was much cooler, but very pleasant. In fact, with the hills of the High Peak providing a lovely backdrop, it rather looked like a Yorkshire version of the Icelandic blue lagoon. Only with a little less steam and a few more kids around the side slurping on 99s.

As a tired-out G snoozed on the drive back over the Snake Pass to Saddleworth, I thought about how good it would be to have a lido that little bit closer to where we live. But then I realised I'd end up going all the time, even when it was raining. And it wouldn't be nearly as special then.

Warmer Waters

I took G swimming a lot when she was a little baby. But after taking her to lessons in a heated pool when we lived in Manchester, the transition to our particularly cold baths in Saddleworth proved a bit of a shock for both of us.

On Tuesday mornings for several months last year, I dutifully got us both into the water in time for the 9am start at our local pool for the weekly parent-and-baby session. G usually seemed to enjoy it, although she could never keep herself from shivering, and I always needed a good five minutes in the hot showers afterwards to feel normal again. So eventually I gave up going.

But after a tip-off from a mum at one of the groups I sometimes go to, we've taken G to the Copley pool in Stalybridge on the past couple of weekends. Not only is the water a more bearable temperature, there's also a small pool for toddlers which is very pleasant indeed. No doubt that's not just because it's heated a little bit more than most pools. But when you've got a little one yourself, that's the sort of thing that doesn't really bother you as much as it used to.

Busy Baby

G can't read yet, but she does have a few cardboard books, and she likes to sit and turn the pages. I caught her earlier staring intently at her Winnie the Pooh story about Kanga and Roo, particularly the page saying that wherever Kanga goes, Roo goes too. That could just as easily apply to us, because wherever I go, G has to come along as well.

And the two of us have been pretty busy this week, particularly yesterday. We went into Manchester for the day, and first I treated G to a trip to the Aquatics Centre so she could splash around in the toddlers' pool. Then we met Mrs J for lunch. And after that I pushed her up to the hotel where the In The City music conference has been taking place, so I could meet some friends.

I'd put G in her little Converse shoes so she could fit in a bit more easily with all the hipster music industry types. On the way she managed to be sick over them. As it turned out this actually helped her fit in even better, because there were quite a few hungover people still wearing the previous night's clothes strewn around the hotel bar. At least they were all old enough to know better.

G crawled around happily, playing peek-a-boo with random strangers and generally enjoying being the youngest person there by at least 20 years. I wondered whether the industry people thought she was some kind of music baby, such as Mick Jagger's latest love child. Or, as one of my friends suggested, the more likely option for a Manchester music event of a niece of a member of Doves. She was far too well-behaved to be a rock star baby though. Maybe if I take her again next year she'll have worked out how to throw a proper tantrum.

Water Baby

Here's another picture from our recent trip to a wedding in Aberdeen. It was taken at the open air pool in Stonehaven, just down the coast, and shows G enjoying the heated saltwater. It was never heated when I was young, but then if I remember rightly back then 1p sweets actually cost 1p, and you could still play football in the street without risking being run over.

Mrs J came swimming too, and said because she always takes longer to get ready than me, I should get G changed as well. I've got getting her ready for swimming down to a fine art at our local pool, where there's not one but two proper baby-changing cubicles in the men's changing rooms. I'm possibly the only person that ever uses them, but even so, top marks to Oldham Council for that.

A more traditional pool like Stonehaven isn't quite blessed with the same facilities. On entering the changing room, I realised I was going to have to make do with the bench-type area in the middle. With no strap to keep G tied down, she insisted on crawling about as I struggled to get her out of her clothes and into her fetching new blue cossie.

Much worse was to follow when, after finally getting her into the pool, she took about 3.7 seconds to fill her swim nappy. I trudged back to the changing room with both of us damp, cold and crying. Actually, the last one was just G, but after a good ten minutes trying to get her out of her wet swimsuit and dirty nappy, dried off, and into a clean nappy and her soggy cossie, all to the backdrop of high-decibel screaming, I felt pretty miserable too.

Thankfully it was all forgotten about once we got back into the warm water, and G enjoyed swimming up and down, with a bit of help from me. Next time I go to a different swimming pool I'm going to make sure I scout out the baby changing situation first though. Or I suppose I could just fashion some kind of portable baby restrainer. Possibly out of pipecleaners and chewing gum, like in MacGyver.

Swimming And Traffic Lights

I took G for a day trip today. We went over the Snake Pass and into Derbyshire to visit Hathersage, mainly because all the fine weather had put me in the mood to go for some outdoor swimming and I think the pool at Hathersage might be the nearest lido to where we live. The website also promised that it would be heated, which seemed like a particularly good idea when I started driving and the sun promptly disappeared behind some rain clouds.

We stopped off for lunch then got to the pool just as a group of schoolkids were arriving. A couple of the teachers offered to help me get G and the pram up the steps. While the female teacher held G and I carried our bags, I folded up the pram for the male teacher to carry, imagining that being a man he'd be good at lifting stuff. He strode off confidently, then missed a step and fell straight on his face. I think I did a reasonable job of sounding concerned, although I was laughing very hard indeed inside.

The water was heated, although the overcast weather meant it wasn't really all that much warmer in there than your standard council baths. The pool's in a beautiful setting though, and you can get a view of the Peak District hills all around as you swim up and down. G is too young to appreciate that sort of thing, but she enjoyed showing off to all of the other people in the pool, as she waved and smiled winningly at anyone who came by.

We had a bit of time spare before I wanted to drive home (that is, when G was next due for a nap) so I followed the signs to the edge of the village to see Hathersedge's other main attraction, the David Mellor cutlery workshop and museum. That's this David Mellor, not that one. Turns out that as well as doing all kinds of cutlery and homeware, David Mellor also designed the traffic lights that you see across the country. To illustrate the point, there was a giant working set of lights in the middle of the museum cafe, where I had a coffee while G got her little fingerprints all over the previously immaculate windows. I had plenty of opportunity to ponder this design classic on the way home, as I drove past dozens more sets of lights. In fact, I found it so interesting it almost got that image of the other David Mellor having sex in a Chelsea shirt out of my head. Almost.

In Search Of Ted And Sylvia

I decided to go on a little adventure with G today. It was so warm and sunny I thought a bit of outdoor swimming might be in order, so I packed up our kit and an OS map, and drove off in the direction of Lumb Falls near Hebden Bridge, which is about half an hour away.

I'd heard it was a popular picnic spot but wasn't entirely sure how to get there. After a bit of driving around on a deserted lane I parked up near what looked like a promising footpath, put G into her back carrier, and clambered off in what the map told me was the right way. Happily it wasn't long before I first heard and then saw the falls. As you can see, we had the place to ourselves.

If you've heard of Lumb Falls it's because of a poem written about it by Ted Hughes, who was from Mytholmroyd, which is the next village along. The poem's not actually about the beauty spot, but about a photo of six men taken there who were later killed in the First World War. These days, there's a plaque to mark it, and you can read more about it, including the poem itself, here.

G is already well-used to swimming pools, but this was the first time I'd taken her for a dip outdoors. I got us changed into our kit and scrambled down the rocks to the side of the stream, just overlooking the waterfall and the main pool, which looked far too far away to reach while carrying a baby.

So I decided the best thing would be to just go for a little paddle. G put her feet in and immediately looked unhappy. Even though it was a sunny day, it is still May, and the water was definitely on the chilly side. After the initial shock of the cold had worn off, G was a bit happier.

Perched on the rock, G started to try out some of her crawling moves. Soon she was contemplating a dive into the water.

In truth, the water was too cold for G, and she wouldn't have enjoyed a proper swim very much. So I took her back to the bank and got us both dried off, before clambering back up the hill to the car with her on my back. She'd managed to lose her red sunhat on the way down, but some friendly person had picked it up and left it on a fence post, so I was able to reunite G with it before the next bit of our journey.

A mile or two from Hebden Bridge is Heptonstall, a lovely little village where it doesn't look like much has changed recently. Greedily, it's got one churchyard but two churches, the original one fell out of use in the 19th century and is now a ruin.


And here's the other one, which was built to replace it.

The main reason anyone goes to Heptonstall isn't to marvel at the twin churches. It's to visit a distant corner of the churchyard to see the grave of Sylvia Plath, author, poet and estranged wife of Ted Hughes, who committed suicide in 1963. I left G in her pram in the shade as I walked around the deserted yard. It took a while to locate it, and I was actually about to leave when I eventually spotted it.

The scuffing around the Hughes part of her name is a result of fans, who blame Hughes and his affair with Assia Wevill for her death, scratching it out. I don't think many people come by to see the grave these days, and there are many others in the yard which seem better kept, but one floral tribute had apparently been left fairly recently. There's also a collection of pens. If you want to read more about Sylvia Plath, her Wikipedia entry is a decent enough place to start.

At this point it was well past G's naptime, so I pushed her back to the car and she was soon asleep on the drive home. Learning about all those dead poets had clearly taken it out of her.

Swimmer

Yesterday was the end of G's swimming lessons, and we took her to a pool in Bolton so she could get her photo taken underwater. This was a professional sort of job, so we don't actually get to see these pictures for another couple of weeks. But Mrs J came along and took some other snaps of me and the little one. Not sure which one of us was showing off more though.

Chubby Arms

My insistence on not dressing G in pink all the time has been causing more confusion. Yesterday morning I took her to the pool in Uppermill for a swim during the parent and toddler session. Because it's an ordinary pool (the lessons she's been having are in a specially heated one) I put her in a little wetsuit which goes over her double swimming nappy, to keep her warm. The suit is purple. You can get it in pink too, but Mrs J sensibly avoided that option when she got it.

Anyway, there was one other parent in the pool, a mum with her toddler. We exchanged pleasantries. She looked at G, and the conversation went like this:

Ignorant woman: "Doesn't he have chubby arms for such a little boy?"
Me: "Actually she's a little girl."
Ignorant woman: "Well, she's got chubby arms for a little girl then. You should dress her in pink."

As you can imagine, there were several things I wanted to say at this point, about both the chubbiness or otherwise of my little angel's arms, and my personal distaste for dressing girls in pink. But I thought better of it, smiled thinly and went back to swimming. I was probably within my rights to call her child pig ugly or something. I'll have to save that sort of top quality comeback for next time.

Swimming Takes It Right Out Of You

I took G for her second swimming lesson today. She managed better than last week, and barely cried at all, although I think 20 minutes of the half-hour lesson is about her limit before she starts to get fed up. She's only a baby, after all. Mrs J took this photo after we got back this afternoon. It's tiring work being a dad, you know.

In At The Shallow End

Here's G and Mrs J earlier today, about to head out for G's first swimming lesson. We were warned that there wouldn't be much space at the pool for prams, so decided to wrap the little one up in her snowsuit and put her in the sling. G slept all the way there even though it was another cold, damp day in Manchester.

Babies can't regulate their temperatures like you or me, so the lesson was in a specially heated small pool. I was going to be in the water with G, but while I waited for all of the mums and babies to get ready, I found myself alone at the side of the pool with another dad. Aware of the fact I was only wearing my shorts (he was fully clothed), I tried to strike up a conversation to ease this potentially awkward situation. I'm now able to reproduce that conversation in full:

Me: "Are you here for the baby swimming class?"
Him (smiling): "Mmm"
Me (putting my hand into the nearby jacuzzi): "This one's a bit warm for the babies!"
Him: "..." (he didn't say anything, then started texting someone on his phone)

At this point I gave up and chuntered to myself about how rude this person was, but I was happy that I'd at least done the decent thing and tried to be sociable. Then this man's wife came out with their baby, and they started using sign language with each other. Yes, they were deaf! Hardly surprising that he hadn't said much to me, as I tried to talk to him while looking in the other direction. Not for the first time in my life, the Curb Your Enthusiasm music began playing in my head. I cringed, inwardly.

The lesson itself started off well. There were six babies in all, G was one of two girls, and clearly the youngest there. But she enjoyed herself, and there were some big smiles when I pulled her along the surface. She didn't appreciate the underwater dunking quite as much, but she'd already started crying (for a feed, as it turned out) so maybe that wasn't so surprising. There are another nine lessons to go, and we've got some things to practice in the bath in between times. I don't think they let you cry during the Olympics, so we've obviously got some work to do.