I’m Laughing at Them, Not with Them.

Sometimes I pretend like I don’t want to eat simply so I can watch my parents act like fools.  It’s quite amazing how I and my fellow baby colleagues, have such power and control over the adult mind.  I’m going to surmise the amount of “dancing” and singing my parents do has significantly increased since my arrival.  I use the term “dancing” loosely as it really just involves jumping up and down, flailing arms and fancy but un-choreographed footwork, all done in a hunched over position so as to be closer to me, sitting on the floor.  Occasionally those flailing arms pick me up and I get to be part of the real action, which is a guaranteed fun time and I’ll put aside making fun of my parents during those moments.  When my day is lacking in amusement or I’m just jonesing for some additional entertainment, when meal-time comes around I’ll pretend like I don’t want to eat.  I shut my mouth, scrunch up my face and turn my head to socialize with the owls on my high-chair making it nearly impossible for my mom to feed me.  Do that for a few seconds and it’s not long before she breaks out in song and dance.  B-A-N-A-N-A-S is one of my favorites.  “Bananas, bananas, Mommy is bananas.  B-A-N-A-N-A-S, bananas!  Woo!”  This usually gets me laughing at which point she tries to sneak the spoon full of food in my mouth.  If I haven’t had my fill of ridiculous entertainment or I’m ready to hear another cheer, the lips close, the face scrunches and the head turns until I get more.  Now, my dad is the one I go to for animal impressions.  The gorilla is his forte.  While it terrifies my 65 pound dog, Bear, I find it absolutely hilarious.  To get a 6’4”, 200+ pound grown man to act like a gorilla just to get me to eat is pretty ingenious on my part.  I’ll let you imagine what that may look like – just keep in mind it makes the dog run out of the kitchen.  Song and dance, animal noises and the like are sure to make me laugh, but little do they know I’m laughing at them, not with them.  Until next time readers...

            

Who Do I Need to Thank for My Stunningly Good Looks?

I’ve already done the math.  My parents won’t be able to trick me later on in life.  They had me out of wedlock.  We are anything but the “traditional” family and so far, I like it this way.  My mom was having a rough day when I was about the size of a cantaloupe (interesting how one is compared to the size of fruits and vegetables in utero…that’s how I got my nickname “Bean”), but anyway, my nana told her not to worry because “all the cool kids are doing it.”  Nana was referring to being pregnant and unmarried.  Need I say more?

Me and Nana the day I was born. 3/19/2011.

When I was born, there was never any question of who the father was.  I was basically my dad’s identical twin.  Not that there was ever any worrying about who the father was, but my parents would have loved to go on the Maury Show for poops and giggles because they’re just that classy.  I had my dad’s soulful blue eyes, long skinny limbs and blonde hair.  (Those long skinny limbs have since turned rather “big-boned.”  I’m just getting a head start on my career as a linebacker or hockey player or really large ballerina).  I looked just like a Stansfield.  If anything, we should have questioned who the lady was who took me home…  Other than the fact that this lady fed me and seemed to love me beyond words, based on looks, we weren’t related.  It wasn’t until the last couple weeks that people have started seeing the other side of my family in my stunningly good looks.  I’ll let you be the judge.  Who need I thank?  Hopefully to spare extreme embarrassment, my parents won’t have to go on Maury to prove who my mother is.

Me and Dad.

He looks like he hasn't slept in a while.  I wonder why?

She says she's my mom...

Good Ole' Tim - the "other side."

I'll keep her because she feeds me even though she looks a little strange in this photo.

My great-uncle from the "other side."

The Up Side of Down

I've fallen and I can't get up.  That phrase runs through my head countless times per day, but no matter how nicely I ask for assistance, no one around me seems to understand what I'm saying and I can't quite figure it out.  For example, just prior to entering this blog, I was staring at the underside of my bouncy chair of which I purposely, or to be completely honest, uncontrollably fell out.  Baby Einstein's Sign Language DVD was playing in the background, which I have completely memorized by the way, and while it most likely won't have any significant impact on the level of my IQ, it psychologically pleases the 'rents' as they think it will increase my already impressive level of intelligence.  It's similar to the article I read the other morning while sitting in my high chair at the breakfast table that suggests, with credible research mind you, that listening to classical music pre- and post-utero doesn't make babies any smarter.  But I digress.  I was lying there, helplessly, with my head under my bouncy chair, moving my legs and arms.  As much as I told my legs and arms what to do, they seemed to have a mind of their own and did not comply with my orders.  Therefore, my nice little calls for help that apparently were going unnoticed, or were not of top priority on my mom's "to-do" list had to be turned up a notch.  My calls for help turned into screams where make your voice quiver to sound even more pathetic, my bottom lip jutted out and my big blue eyes got all teary.  But the up side of down is that every time you try that trick, it works.  You get swooped off the ground and the boob goes right in your mouth.  If they ever take that boob from me, they've got something else coming.