day fortynine

me, giving the 4 gun salute. my eyes get tired after I lift wieghts.

A few things to look forward to in the week ahead.

1. most important, my first first cousin will likely be born this week. Currently known as Little Baby Dr. Baritt, I anticipate this guy will be pretty extraordinary. Hopefully he will be the perfect combination of his mom's swimming and fashion genes and his dad's capacity to drink Caucasians. I don't know what they will call him - i vote for Jeffrey "the Dude" Barritt. And you know, sometimes first cousins get to be really close. Like my mom and Caitlin, or Jesus and John the Baptist.

2. I anticipate that Savoldelli will be able to hold on to the Maglia Rosa all the way into Milan this weekend, giving Discovery the big Giro win going into the TdF. However, the Little Boy Barritt Super Achiever award goes to Ivan Basso who should have won had he not come down with the Italian equivalent of Montezuma's revenge in those crazy mountain stages. He's recovered now and has ripped the peloton a new one two days in a row. And he's handsome.

3. If you get anxious in my absence, I implore you to check out the activities of the Smithcore (follow the link on the right). Seeing their chickens and pigs will make you rethink your decision to live where you do. Like the sign on the border says, "Maine: the way life ought to be." For more, see http://www.knowledgeplex.org/news/84385.html

day fortysix

Yes. Day 46. Soon these things will be measured in weeks. Dylan is 64 today. I presume that is in years.

Things have been pretty great as of late. Most importantly, I've gotten really comfortable rocking it shirtless. I didn't like that when I first got home because it was still kind of cold and the nursery is a wee bit draughty and my belly button wasn't healed yet. Now however it's warm and I enjoy just sporting a diaper with the ceiling fan on medium. Perfect. It's kind of like being at the beach, which I've only seen on TV. Then again I'm taking my first trip there this Saturday. I won't tell you where it is, since we are always hounded by the media due to my extremely large web presence, but it does rhyme with Wee-a-wah.

What do people do at the beach? Mom and dad keep saying "Oh, I can't wait until we're at the beach, it will be so relaxing, etc." I can't imagine anything more relaxing than my present life near the big mountain. I eat, I sleep, I ride in the stroller around the mountain, I eat, I take a bath, I sleep, ad infinitum. I guess the beach is the same way, but hotter, flatter, and with Spanish moss. Also I get to meet Uncle P and his friend. He better bring me something awesome and Manhattanish, like one of those giant floor pianos from the movie Big. Or a Louis Vitton stroller. Or a onesie made by Seven or Prada.

Good work on the comments folks. This is the kind of thing I was envisioning. Keep it up. I can match wits with all of you wiseacres, and to those of you who are too demure to launch cheap attacks at me or my dad and instead choose to leave kind remarks, I applaud your gentility.

Finally, the paci is held in without the need of adult sized fingers. 

This was taken while waiting for the shot of the grandparents C 

the proud grandparents C 

day thirtyfive

I made weight. I'll be able to wrestle in a different class now. I made it to nine and a half pounds yesterday. The doctor said I was perfect - round head, strong neck from all the tummy time, eyes that only cross occasionally and have just the slightest yellow hue. This is from the Vitamin D that I'm not metabolising efficiently, but it supposedly happens to all babies who are awesome like me. It makes it so I can see at night, like a cat.

My paternal grandparents are coming in town tonight to play with me. I still haven't decided what to call them. Anyway, hopefully they will buy mom and dad all kinds of meals out. I like the way milk tastes after mom's been eating Thai or Mexican. Then again, last night she ate Aunt Yvonne's dim sum right here at home. The derivative milk made me long for the day I can eat dumplings directly.

I don't like to bring this up, but I've been really disappointed with the lack of comments posted on the site. There were 164 visits to the page last week - and not one comment. I don't want to hear about lack of updates until I start seeing some reciprocity. Like any relationship, this anonymous electronic relationship is a two-way street. There I said it.

So here are a couple of questions that might give rise to comments:
* Did Bettini take Baden Cooke down on purpose in Tuesday's stage of the Giro?
* Should mom get new running shoes? (She'll be doing a lot of walking with me, and then chasing)
* When should I get my first haircut? It's getting a bit long in the back, and I hate the way babies with uncut hair look. Why is it 'cute' for a baby to have a thin mullet?

That's it. I'm out. Time for daily nap number 5.

day thirty

I've heard from several of you that you'd like an update on the blog. I can also tell from the site meter that lots of people are interested in me and my daily doings. Fact is, mom and dad don't think I'm changing all that fast, probably because they see me all the time. All the time. I mean, even when I'm 'asleep' I can hear them come in my room to make sure I'm breathing. Sometimes I hold my breath just to freak them out. (You'd be amazed how long a guy that can't even hold a paci in for more than 2 minutes can hold his breath). Anyway, this is the reason they haven't taken many new pics of me. I think I have to start going outside to get some new poses. I presume my primary outside pose will be shielding myself from that incredibly bright light out there.

I do have to say I'm excited that my friend Lucy Allred was finally born on Thursday night. She already weighs more than me, and I'm 30 days old. The Rat Race has begun.

day twentytwo

Here is a picture of me sharing my opinion about the layout of the blog.

This was the breaking point of tummy time a few days ago.

this is what we call the supercrack. Grandma B figured out that this was the best place to put me when I try to sleep or am somewhat docile on the first floor of the house. It's basically the crack between two sofa cushions, overlaid with a quilt my great grandmother made. I probably spend 7-9 hours a day in the supercrack. I always have to be 'head in' because my amazingly strong legs have this kick reflex that could shoot me to the coffee table were I to have something to kick off of.