The Miles Report

If Miles had been first, by this point you'd have read post after post about spit-up and onesies and Baby Bjorns. But, luckily for you, Miles is second, so you get no news! Not regularly, anyhoos. Here's what we have so far: not much spit-up, he likes TV, and he seems fine with sleeping in the living room in his bassinet. It's like a one baby slumber party! I suppose one of these nights, we'll come out, and Max will be sitting next to Miles with his hands under the kid while he chants, "He's as stiff as a feather; light as a board."

But, yep, Miles loves his big brother and the big brother loves Miles. As of yet, there's been no scarring, life-long trauma for Max having to share the "Center of the Universe" sobriquet. I'm spending way less time with a Bjorn strapped on, walking back and forth in the basement than I did with Max. Well, I'm spending no time doing that so, really, in some weird way, I feel like I'm not bonding with the boy. Early on, Max and I had a looot of quality time in that basement.

We never really made a point of not watching TV with Max but, we didn't. With Miles though, man, that boob tube is like a glowing angel that stuns him into silence while you change his diaper. One unfortunate side effect has been that, during a diaper change, Max has figured out who Elmo is. I did not know that Elmo is like crack for two year-olds. Sweet, pure crack. So, yeah, both my kids are hooked on baby crack: things are great!

The Polls are Closed

Generally, posts at Hamann Eggs are 17-53% funnier than anything that's ever been written over here. However, this post takes the cake. It's what? January? I doubt you'll read a more screamingly funny post about parenting all year. Funniest non-parenting post are here.

Since it is just January, Hamann will probably write something funnier before the year is out. I'm just hoping the pressure of having to top himself shakes him up enough that, for a week or two, I'm funnier.

Old School

We blog a lot about bacon. (As Max would say, we have "iss-eeews". Yes, we taught him to say "issues". Yes, it is cuter than you can comprehend.)

One of the main reasons - other than the glory of bacon itself - is that good ol' smoked n' cured pork belly is pretty much the only animal protein that Max will eat. The best part of his bacon eating - again, other than the bacon - is the dope, old school meat market we shop at for all our meat needs (except for the fourteen-inch thick Costco steaks every family needs.)

Max and I make regular trips to Everett's, not too far from our house. It's got everything: guys in white jackets and paper hats writing on butcher paper-wrapped gifts of meaty goodness. I finally realized, at Everett's, what it's like for Katie to go shoe shopping: you walk in, look at the case filled with porterhouses, strips, t-bones, sirloins, tenderloins, chops, sausages and, of course, bacon; and god help you if you don't just want one of everything. I mean, really, really want one of everything. Much to my chagrin, shoes don't go bad if you don't freeze them after a day or two, so one person in this house has to control himself.

I'm guessing that Max's appreciation of bacon comes from his earliest stages of development, when, as a wee zygote, Katie would take him through the chow line at Penland on BLT day. Too bad Penland didn't have fish stick day or soy chunk day or something like that.

Next Lot Up for Auction

An early work of the artist. A mixed media collage, made of plaster wall, a seal from a baby wipe package and crayon. This, a first of a long series by the artist, titled "Wipey Makes My Butt Clean", demarcates the beginning of what 21st Century Art historians have come to know as the artist's "Poo" period. Let's begin the bidding at 1.5 million.

What?

Yes, folks, the apple surely does not fall far from the tree. We lead a pretty hedonistic life-style 'round these parts. Christmas tree? Why deck it with tinsel when bacon will do? Rather than from a bottle, our boys learn how to shotgun their milk while Mom and Dad chant, "Drink it! Drink it! Drink it!" So, Miles, not wanting to be left out of the party just 'cause he can't talk or walk or hold his head up for extended periods of time, decides that, hey, when it comes to orifices: Go for the Deuce!