On Sunday, Harry and David were messing around and D ended up feeding H his breakfast “yike a baby” as Joe would say. Afterwards, Harry was in tears: “I wish I could be a baby again!” (I was writing this blog post at the time and said, “I wish I was 13 again, listening to Gary Davies…”)
But Harry does this a lot. If he looks at photos – or, even worse, videos – of either himself or of Joe, he gets tearful. If he catches me throwing away some baby item, he can get really upset. I gave Joe’s bath bucket away with one hand, while holding a sobbing Harry at bay with the other.
I’m trying to have a clearout at the moment and that is not going well. Harry basically doesn’t want me to get rid of anything. He even wants to keep stuff he’s never used or doesn’t like, just because… well, just because. I’m reading Happier at Home by Gretchen Rubin at the moment, and she created memory boxes for her two daughters for keeping things that mean something to them. I’m doing a couple for Harry and Joe, which will, no doubt, be filled with crap. But I’ve told them they only get the one box and so, at some point, they’ll have to make choices – the birthday card that used to play Old MacDonald really annoyingly, but is now broken (and which has been scanned in so we have a digital version) or a precious teddy? We’ll see.
We’ve been going to soft play a lot during the holidays and when I mentioned the one we used to go to when Harry was a baby, he got very excited. Even though it was a bit rubbish, he wanted to go again. Turns out it closed a couple of years ago. I was driving when I told the boys the reason we couldn’t go. There was a pause. And then a wail. “Now we’ll never go there againnnnnnnnnn!” Harry was so upset that Joe started to cry too and he doesn’t even remember it.
I get this. I really do. Last time I went to Deepdale Retail Park, I welled up when I saw Borders. But I’m 41. Harry’s 8. What’s he going to be like when he’s my age?!