Tonight on OLN: when moms attack

day onetwelve

Twasn't too long ago that there was a day twelve entry. 100 days to be exact. Well, time flies when you drink your meals and sleep all the time. Just ask any Beta from UNC or Zete from UVa. But anyway, the promised pictures.


As mentioned earlier, last weekend I went to see Cam, otherwise known as the Squintmeister General. We had a great time, especially bouncing this ball off of his forehead. But lest I laugh too hard, he always crawled over to my place of respite to place a hand in my face to remind me who's boss. He'd just stare at me and say "Who's the boss, Little Man?" and I'd say "Tony Danza" and then we'd fall down laughing.

Sometimes his dad wanted to play with the ball. Note the look of resignation on Jay's face as he once again loses control of it to Cam.





This is a picture from the first wedding I went to. Hard to know where my seersucker ends and dad's begins. Earlier in the day we had one of those moments, just like in a Hugh Grant movie. I come out of the nursery wearing my seersucker and dad walks out of his nursery wearing his seersucker, and we just have a big laugh and say 'oh my gosh, I can't believe you are wearing that, I'm wearing the same thing!' and so on and so forth. But we were already late for the wedding and mom already had the car running in the garage and she just kept honking and we knew we just had to make the best of it. In case you were wondering, the little sailboat on my seersucker suit (seen above) is exactly like the one embroidered on the back of dad's seersucker jacket.

day oneten

I would be posting pictures, but the fact is that it is so hot that little heat waves appear in front of every person I take a picture of. I've got some good ones to put up of my man Cam from our visit to the other Carolina this past weekend. It was the first time I'd ever stayed in the 'Upstate,' but it pretty much seemed the same as where we live because the Tour de France was always on.

Dad seems different, and frankly a bit dispondent since the Tour wrapped up. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's his love/hate relationship with Lance. But it's probably because he once again realizes that the Boss was right when he said '57 channels and nothin's on.'

Uggh. The keyboard's getting sweaty. If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen, in my diaper, trying to find a cool spot on the linoleum. Mom will be doing the same.

day one-oh-four

Above is a scene from the dream I had last night, the one right before I rolled over in my sleep and woke myself up. In any case, I don't know what the dream means, but I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that dad is about to start law school?

And for those of you looking for a little something interesting to do, check out;

http://www.wordsmith.org/anagram/index.html#1

You can find out all the anagrams for your name there. Mine, for example, comes up with

St. Rabbit Charmer

Awesome.

day one-oh-one redux

Hand-holding is the ultimate sign of masculinity in modern-day Baghdad.

day one-oh-one

OK folks, I know you are eager to hear of my doings. Tomorrow I anticipate there will be new pictures of me with my partner in crime, the aforementioned Bilcon. On Saturday we drove to visit Connor and his parents in the land of the Crimson Tide and the state that I hope will soon be governed by Sir Charles Barkley. There and back in one day, and for those of you who have ever driven that strip of I-20 from Oxford to Birmingham, you know that the ride between Croatia and Serbia in the mid-90's was likely smoother than that cursed strip of blacktop. Nonetheless, the jostling made my senses sharper and gave me the opportunity to think about the trouble Connor and I will get in during various holiday vacations in the decade between 2010 and 2019, and to consider whether or not George Hincapie should be the leader of the Discovery Channel Team next year.

At any rate, kudos to Big George for winning his first stage of Le Grand Tour, a feat not unlike me rolling over 3 times in as many minutes this morning.

day ninetyseven

I thought I'd go ahead and get all the potty humour out of the way within a few posts. Nonetheless, I could not deny this picture that grandad C magically caught a few weeks ago. I mean, this happens 8 times a day, and it apparently isn't funny when there is no camera around. The lens changes everything though, as Annie Liebowitz has taught us so well.

I suppose there is some divine ironic reciprocity with all of this though. The day that dad plans to post this picture, so full of jocular self-righteousness, I spitup pretty much all over him. He thinks he gets it off, until he goes to work and finds that the links of his watch smell redolent of what I like to call 'baby yogurt.' Ha! Just like Haman, hung on his own gallows.

Come on, you know, Haman, from the book of Esther. Sheesh!

day ninetythree - graphic details from the front

Monday, July 11, 2005
Mom - Staff Reporter

Unconfirmed reports circulated late this morning that the world's largest poop had been expelled by  local 3 month old, Barritt.

"Mom told me I had one job to do today, so I figured I better go ahead and get busy," Barritt told reporters.

"It was a complete surprise," Mom says.  "Well, I mean, not a complete surprise...it had been two and a half days since the last poopy diaper, so I figured there was a big one coming."

But nothing could have prepared her for what happened at approximately
10:45 this morning.  Barritt had recently woken from his morning nap
and enjoyed his regular snack of warm milk.

"I couldn't figure out where he was putting it all.  He was nursing as
much as he always does, and yet there were no poops.  Toots, yes, but
no poops."

The first hints came after Barritt became uncharacteristically fussy
during a stint in the bouncy chair.  Calming Vibrations were not
calming, the pacifier not pacifying.  Mom even tried dangling the
octopus and the Whoozit in front of him and singing made-up songs, to
no avail.

"I saw the tell-tale signs around the edges of his diaper and I was
glad he'd finally gone.  But when I actually opened the diaper and saw
the massive mustard-colored mess, I didn't know whether to laugh or
cry."

It took 5 minutes and as many wipes to contain the outpouring, the
fallout extending from Barritt's belly to his foot, where he'd kicked
at the messy diaper during the clean up.  Barritt calmly looked on as
Mom frantically tried to contain the poop and avoid leakage onto the
rug.  Fortunately, Huggies' Gigglastic and Mom's swift action kept the
damage to a minimum.

"I can't say this won't happen again, especially if Mom keeps up with
the all Mexican and ruffage diet," Barritt warned, then promptly fell
asleep.

day eightysix

Apparently, cleanliness is next to, um, the paper towel holder.

day eighty

Dad came back home from his trip yesterday. He was shocked when he saw me for the first time in 7 days. He tried not to stare, but it was inevitable, just like when he couldn't stop watching the two midgets throwing rocks at each other at the beach in Gloucester, MA last week. That's another story though. Anyway, he was staring at me because I seemingly went bald in the week he was gone. I mean, I don't look like Kojak or Moby; it's not slick, it's just thinning.

At any rate, I had trouble sleeping through the night whilst I was in NC and VA this past week, but things were good back in GA last night. Seven hours. I get to have some pretty deep dreams when I sleep that long. Last night I had the dream where I was naked in public. The thing is though that while you may think that is a nightmare, it couldn't be more normal for me.

day seventy

Going to be away from the blog for a while, and wanted to leave you with a vision of the epiphanic baby that I am. Evidently my glory hath increased since I started sleeping through the night.

Here I am taking a nap in my favorite spot. When I first started sleeping here it wasn't such a cozy fit. 

Day sixtyeight - the beach pictures are in

We all know skateboarding is not a crime, but apparantly biking is, at least on Kiawah Island. Nevertheless, dad and I managed to get some furtive trips around Bufflehead Road whilst we were there, careful to avoid the Kiawah Kops. We usually wore helmets, but the day was just too nice to miss out on the rays.

going for my first tan

After a long day at the beach, a pound of shrimp, and a couple of gin and tonics, I like to recline on Uncle P

This is basically where I go when I'm fussy/grumpy. Dad becomes the over the shoulder baby holder. This was on vaca, hence the palm trees and shirtlessness.

day sixtyone

It's my two month birthday today, though I still go in weeks. Went downtown to see the nice lady doctor who is somewhere between my age and my mom's. They stuck some needles in me, but it went OK. I made sure I got the Dip-Tet so that I don't get the lockjaw night vision.

I made 50-75th percentile on weight and 25-50th on height. Just like dad's LSAT scores.

I am seriously lacking creativity here at the end of a day where I got 4 shots and then went to the heart of darkness, otherwise known as Buckhead and its Lenox Mall. Then I rode around Hotlanta for a while in a black car. I'm beat. More pictures and witticisms on another day . . .

day sixty

enough about farming, and more about me. this is me ignoring Simon and Garfunkel's advice not to be coy, Roy.

 

Noah Miller's blog debut

I really couldn't resist putting this picture up. It reminds me a lot of the pictures that used to be in the Dairy Queen my dad used to frequent too often in high school, the consequences of which he is still fighting every time he rides his bike. They were these 11x14's of two 3 year olds dressed as farmers standing in the fields with captions like "Been farming long?" Anyway, this is Noah Miller, of the Drew and Peyton Millers. Handsome guy. Out there on the tractor in the Shenandoah Valley he won't have to grow up in the harsh social climes of Richmond like his momma, and he won't have to get a high school job at Abercrombie and Fitch like his daddy did just to make ends meet in Nova. He'll just daily get up with the sun and enjoy splitting the earth, listening to the subtle sounds of the resultant steam as his manure spreader pierces Harrisonburg's frosted soil.

And carrying on the tradition I began with the Smithcore, here is a nice local color piece about Noah's Dad Drew, a man destined for greatness if only because he shares my dad's birthday.

http://www.dnronline.com/sports-story4.asp

day fiftyfour - Billconn Arrives

I no longer have to sing 'Come thou long awaited cousin.' William Connor Barritt showed up at 14:13 Greenwich Mean Time on June 1. He's already proved himself to be tenacious, and it's going to be smooth sailing from now on. If we look similar, it's because we have 25% of the same genes, according to some work done by Gregor Mendel. His mom is doing well and dad is fired up. The dogs haven't seen him yet. But wait a minute, what's up with all the Barritt grandkids going by their middle names?

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.