From the Mouth of Gabe

Monday, June 4, 2012

Mommy and Daddy are deadbeats and haven't posted pictures of me in a long time! Here are a couple to entertain my adoring fans:

Me swinging at daycare. I am a swingin' guy! Look at that windswept hair. Ladies, I'm available for long walks on the beach and vomiting into your lap.

Here is CC doing her trademark photobomb:

Monkey!

So, speaking of vomit, I made Mommy's 1st Mother's Day one to remember! Hoping to enjoy Mommy's first Mother's Day, mommy (and daddy) took me to Oga's, a lovely sushi restaurant in Natick. After a delicious sushi dinner (but just milk and baby food for me), Mommy and Daddy enjoyed some green tea ice cream. Mommy thought, "What the heck? Gabe would probably like some too." And I did. In fact, Mommy noted how much I was enjoying it (Big Mistake!). A few minutes later I lost my lunch. And I'm not talking just a little spit-up, I'm talking a huge pile dumped into mommy's lap and onto the floor. And her shoes. Stunned, she and Daddy froze, stared at each other, and then started cleaning it up. Mommy passed me off to Daddy, and I decided to christen his clothes as well. Fortunately we were in the corner of the restaurant, not at a table right in the middle. Also fortunately, there were many families there for Mother's Day, so hopefully it wasn't shocking or repulsive to see baby throw up. But that did not stop people from turning and staring. One nice family got us napkins to help clean up, and the waitstaff was very nice about the whole thing. Mommy took me outside as fast as she could, waddling through the place in her vomit-y pants and wet shoes. This will be a Mother's Day to remember - not sure if Mommy and Daddy will be brave enough to go back to Oga's anytime soon though...

Monday, November 21, 2011

I am a WMD!

We appear to have created a pimp daddy. Is it ok to call our baby that? OK, well, a little guy who is very popular with the ladies. I think we need to take a camera to the pediatrician's office because by the time he gets called in from the waiting room, Gabe has a small fan club of little old lady admirers lined up in the waiting room chairs. When we went there for Gabe's second weigh-in and were checking in, I said to the receptionist, "He's always so popular in the waiting room." And she asked, "Your husband or your son?" I laughed and told her my son. Apparently we're not supposed to make Dr. appointments on Fridays, because the little old ladies are all at Bingo that day.

Gosh, we've already turned into those annoying parents who think their kid is the cutest thing ever. But it's not us, it's the little old ladies who think he's cute! I think Gabe looks like Ben, but there's always hope. :)

Captain's log: supplemental. Slave obedience continues to be a trial. Note to self: next time, visit a planet with intelligent life, or at least one without "the Jersey Shore". Despite my clear instructions otherwise, my minions continue to take my clothes off and put me on "the scale". Today I decided to take some corrective action.

At the doctor's Gabe peed on the scale while he was being weighed in the buff. I said, "Oh, that's the first time that happened!" I meant it was the first time it happened to me. It was certainly not the first time scale-peeing happened in the ped's office. Maybe Gabe just did it because Ben did it first.

The projectile attack was significantly more deadly than I first thought. Once the slaves recovered all of my ammunition, they sealed it in a "biohazard" bag. Clearly my urine contains some kind of corrosive or toxic powers that can destroy worlds. I should have seen this earlier: I am a WMD!

I think Gabe was demonstrating his dissatisfaction at the humiliation we earthlings subject him to. The humiliation to which we earthlings subject him, I mean. Grammar is hard! They gave us his diaper to take home in a biohazard bag, a picture of which appears below. It was kind of entertaining! Warning: WMD! Toxic waste!

While we were waiting for the doctor I told Ben we should all strip, and then when the doctor comes in, say we weren't sure who needed to strip for the exam. I clearly need to get more sleep.

Friday, August 19, 2011

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!

Friday, August 5, 2011

(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 times~~bask 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?

Dad's powers to see the future are weak. Don't ask him for lottery numbers.
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.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Børtographs

The grandparents et. al. keep asking for more photos of the børt. Well, that works out well, because our friends Chris and Lisa came over for dinner the other day, and Chris has a "real" camera, which he uses for "professional photography" - apparently my 3.5 MP Canon point and shoot from 1743 isn't considered state of the art. Anyway, enjoy - Chris captured some pretty priceless expressions.

(BTW the pictures on the blog are all uploaded at full res, so you can simply download the zoomed picture - what's on the blog is as good as what I have.)

Daddy's "working"? Yeah, right.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Indications that the world is ENDING!

Indications that the WORLD is ENDING!

I am hungry! You never feed me! Ever!
My diaper is gross. I don't know how the hell that happened. Did you seriously put a dirty diaper on me? I'm calling social services.
My arms are moving. I don't know why, or who is in charge of them, but it FREAKS ME OUT.
You are not rocking me gently. Come on people, this body is not going to rock itself.
There is no number five. I am going to cry anyway; you probably deserve it.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Bris-sion accomplished!

(Credit to my sister for coming up with that title.)

Gabriel's bris was on Thursday, 7/7, which also happened to be my parents' wedding anniversary. For the uninitiated, a "bris" is a Jewish ritual circumcision that is held at home on the 8th day after birth. Don't worry - local anesthesia is used so it's very humane! It went well, though the little man certainly didn't like being restrained and partly stripped on the dining room table. I think he was just being modest. Ben read some blessings while the mohel (the person doing the circumcision) did the procedure - it took less than a minute! I took on the traditional mother's role of crying in the next room. The mohel then read some blessings and said hopefully he'll grow up to be a mentsch (a good guy). Fat chance.

This is an emergency dispatch back to the home planet. My human slaves held a small rebellion yesterday - I barely survived. A group of them held me down on the table and attempted to cut me with a
knife. Fortunately they only managed to get my foreskin before I was able to escape.

My sister, brother-in-law and nephew (their kid) Zach came to the bris. Apparently this conversation happened at Zach's home earlier in the day:

My sis: What're we doing today?
Zach: We're going to a bris!
My sis: What's a bris?
Zach: I'm gonna find out!

Clearly a case of "gotcha journalism." Still, this kid is quite the conversationalist. Instead of "I don't know," it's: "I'll let you know!" "Stay tuned for more!"

There was awesome deliciousness: bagels and lox, whitefish, pastry, kugel,...and we have lots of leftovers! One thing about having a kid is you can trade visits for snacks - we've had relatives bring us beer, Indian food, rotisserie chicken, hot dogs and burgers for the 4th, and the whole bris spread. So book your visit soon - we may be upping the ante to caviar and escargot.