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When my daughter, our first child, was born nearly four years ago, she obviously slept in our room initially. I slept very little for the first few nights, not because she was crying (that came a few days later) but because I was paranoid that she would stop breathing at any moment.

I would lie awake in the very small hours making as little noise as possible so as not to wake my exhausted wife. In the darkness my hearing became hyper-sensitive, listening for the slightest movement or sound from our brand new little baby.

As soon as I heard her move slightly, or sigh, or let out a little whimper, I knew she was alright and the sense of relief was immense. I hadn’t realised just how tense I was until I relaxed at that moment.

With the arrival of our second baby, I was just as bad, but he was a noisy sleeper. So most of the time I knew, sub-consciously, that he was Ok and I could go back to sleep. It didn’t stop me waking up regularly to check though.

Now they are both older and a little more robust (my daughter is nearly 4 and my son nearly 18 months), I am not so worried or paranoid. But there are times when I miss that vulnerability in them, that helpless stage when they rely entirely on you as their parent for everything. It is hard to describe how that feels at the time, you feel strong and uncontrollably paternal, and fiercely protective, all at the same time.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want those days back permanently or anything like that. But as they both grow older, especially H who is now at Nursery and then proper school in September, I know they don’t need me and their Mum quite as much, and it makes me sad and a little bit remorseful.

The reason I am writing this post? A few weeks ago I had several days in one week where I got home from work after the kids were in bed, and I hadn’t seen them before I left either. I walked past their door that night, they were both sound asleep, and I had the strongest paternal urge I’ve ever had since either of them had moved out of our room. I just wanted to run in to their room and grab them and make sure everything was Ok, and make sure I hadn’t missed anything from those few days.

I couldn’t of course, and I didn’t dare even to creep in and sit on their beds to check either because our kids are so easy to wake up (a bit like me) and so difficult to get back to sleep again (like me).

So I just stood there at the door, listening to their heavy, contented, breathing, and I was immediately reminded of what I told you about at the start of this post.

If you are a parent, how about you?  Ever caught yourself checking they are still breathing?

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I have taken my Daughter out in a Bike trailer a few times, especially when she was a bit younger but, much to my dismay, my wife hates to ride a bike. One of my favourite things to do!

So I normally end up taking H out on her own, but I am embarrassed to admit that since my Son has been born I haven’t taken them both out in the trailer ever. This is something I think I need to rectify, but I am worried they may kill each other before I get to my destination as there is not a lot of room in the trailer, so I am putting it off for now.

Anyway, the reason I mention this, is that I saw today via a Twitter cycling friend, a link to this article. The Danish Dad pictured here has done a great job in rigging something up to take his two kids out on the bike with him. Although in the comments it is suggested he add a bit more protection to the lower part for the sleeping baby!

I thought I would share it here, because I am always thinking of ways to involve both my kids in the noble pursuit of cycling. I spent many Summers permanently on my bike when I was younger and thought nothing of cycling miles across town on a Saturday afternoon. I want my kids to be as at home and at peace on a bike as I was, and still am.

In fact, writing this now has really made me yearn for a good long bike ride. If only I didn’t have this stupid sore throat, headache and cold, I would, honest…

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So we finally got a decent covering of snow here on the South Coast of England. Well, not as much as other parts of the country, including London, but we did get just about enough to make a more substantial snowman than the last one from a few days ago.

And here he is, my Daughter has decided to call him Freddy (the snowdwarf was called Sam apparently, no idea where the names come from). We had to act fast as the snow had already turned to light sleet, and the scant ground covering was beginning to turn to mush.

I must say, the saddest part of all of this is, I was really quite excited about building the snowman.  H?  She just wanted to throw lumps of snow down my neck, because she thought it was so funny when she did it by accident the other day.

I was getting annoyed becuase I was working on the quick construction of a passable snowman to photograph for posterity, and she was determined to just have fun slinging snow around.  It was almost like she had never seen the stuff before. Tsk, Kids these days!

So there it is.  I wanted to create this little ‘memory-moment’ for my Daughter; her first big snowfall, rushing out to make her first proper snowman with her old Dad, and the memories that would last for years, just like all the films tell me I should.  And it made me lose focus on the main reason we were out there, to have some fun together before the snow melted.

That is why I am a self-confessed Sad Dad.  I am all about the sentimentality of it, and H, she is just living life like a three year old should.  Lesson learnt?  Probably not!

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