More Baby Pictures

Time to clear out some of the photos we've built up.  A few random notes:

First, our camera just absolutely sucks.  As far as I can tell it has, like, 8 pixels in the CCD.  The real issue isn't image size but light sensitivity - the CCD isn't light sensitive enough to shoot without flash, and we're usually too harried to set up a tripod.  So most of our pictures are annoyingly blurry.

Normally I am a total troglodyte when it comes to new gadgets - it's almost a curmudgeonly point of pride.  I mean, have you seen my phone?  But in this case even an iphone would be a huge step up in photo quality.

Also, poor Gabe, he's going to think his parents were nudists.  As I look through the album, 2/3 of the pictures are of me holding him topless - I had to search for these, or in a few cases, tastefully crop out my third nipple.  Listen, Gabe, someday when you read this on the internet archive, you should know: it's really hot this summer, and you're like a little radiator!

This is my impression of a seal!

Dude.....that was some goooooooodddd milk!

Daddy, just cuz this is the Internet, that doesn't mean you have to post nude photos of yourself!

CC is on duty!

I wonder if I can swing from that chandelier...

Mr. Mom in the purple Moby...I wonder if I should spit up first or poop first!

(Mis)Adventure in Poo-kipsie

So first, a warning to our non-parent friends: this is a story about poop.  (Of course it is, what else would we talk about?)  Lori and I didn't think we'd be those people who just talked about poop all the time.  I don't know what I thought...maybe we'd talk about politics or art or something.  Nope.  Our conversations are like a broken 5-disc CD changer.*  Poop. Click. Oh my is he cute. Click. Milk. Click. Poop. Click. Burps are cute! Click. Poop...my wife and I have the mouths of 8 year old boys.

Anyway, we took the børt to Poughkeepsie last weekend so Lori could go to her friend's baby shower and Saba and Softa could clean their rugs multiple timesbask in Gabe's cuteness.

Round one went something like this:
Dad: oh my, does someone have a stinky?
Børt: yeeeess foolish human, come closer.
Dad: oh my goodness, someone is sooooooooo stinky!  Who is a little stinkbort?
Børt: indeed human, surely your only option is to put me on the changing pad and take my diaper off.
Dad: (takes off diaper) yuck!

At this point, with a smile I can only describe as maniacal, the børt did something that isn't surprising in "hind"sight and yet I just couldn't see coming with my nostradamus-like powers: once the diaper was off he projectile pooped clear past the pad onto the rug.

Børt: 1. Human slaves with poor predictive powers: 0.

As it turns out, though Gabe was playing the long con.  The next time we went to change him, I actually said this:
Dad: Lori, maybe you should slide the changing pad down so that he can't poop past it?
Børt: yeeess foolish human, you should definitely slide the pad down, there's no reason why you'd also want my head on the pad.
Mom: (slides the pad down)
Dad: (once again fails to foresee future events)

The børt then promptly rolls his head to one side and vomits up half of his lunch on the rug with a smile that I can only describe as "superior".

So what have we learned?

1. Dad's powers to see the future are weak. Don't ask him for lottery numbers.
2. It's a good thing the børt has done a number on the grandparents' brain, because he's done a number on their rug too.

On Friday the slaves strapped me into my rocket seat and took me to a strange land called Poo-kipsie. There I was confronted with the baby-crazed minions called "Saba" and "Softa." I decided to use all of my powers to demonstrate my disgust. When Dadbort removed my diaper, I took aim and fired - and managed to soil the carpet beyond my changing pad. Score 1 for Cranbort, 0 for human slaves. I will attempt to harness this projectile power to fuel my eventual return to my home planet. Then when the "Saba" and "Softa" were tending to my every whim, I attempted to consume all milk available within a 5-mile radius and regurgitate it onto their shoulders. Score 2 for Cranbort, 0 for human slaves.As a final stroke of brilliance I tricked my slaves into allowing my face free access to their floor coverings known as "carpet" and took the opportunity to forcibly expel as much spent fuel as possible out of my mouth-hole and onto said "carpet." Final Score 3 for Cranbort, 0 for human slaves.

If they still think he's cute after that, he's clearly accomplished his mission.

* Gabe: someday when you read this and go "oh this totally explains why I'm in therapy now" you may be wondering: what is a CD? CDs were shiny discs that contained about 50 minutes of digital music.  You'd listen to them, then they'd get scratched, then you would use them as coasters, or maybe microwave them.