Eli's review of Wilco's new album, "Sky Blue Sky"

When Diana feeds Eli, she likes to play this children's Reggae album. I'm convinced if he listens to this too frequently he'll turn into a pot head when he's a teenager and grow those gross blonde dreadlocks. Ew.

So when I took Eli downstairs for his daily X-Box golf outing, I took along the new Wilco album, "Sky Blue Sky." Now, technically this album is unreleased and I have a bootleg copy. Which means Eli participated in a crime by listening. But I explained to ELi the evils of copyright fraud and promised to buy the album the minute it comes out.

Overall, Eli liked the album. And by "like," I mean, "didn't cry." In fact, he got a thoughtful look on his face through the beginning of the album, made a huge poo about halfway through, and actually cried so hard I had to skip the song "Walkin."

As a comparison, I played him "Sgt. Pepper" by the Beatles, which caused him to drift into a coma-like sleep. Sorry, Wilco. You cannot beat the masters.

On another happy note, I tried out the baby sling while playing X-Box golf today and after an initial scream of frustration, he took to it happily. Which left my hands free to play, drink Gatorade and to eventually use the restroom. Diana does not approve.

On a sad note, we took Eli to his first trip to Target. He did not like it one bit. Much crying. I fear he inherited his father's penchant for overpriced, brand name blue jeans.

Baby slings

Today, Diana and I made the monumental task of wakling a half block to the church (to run Grover, they're really cool) with Elijah. Normally that involves strapping the little man into his car seat, locking said car seat into the car seat stroller, lugging the stroller down the steps, etc. 30 minutes of work for 15 minutes of Grover fun. Besides, Grover was looking at me with his, "You know, I unrinate outside for your benefit, not mine" face.

So we broke out the baby sling. It's basically a sash with a pocket for wee ones. You have to get over the fact that you look like Ms. America without the duct taped buttocks. But after my initial embarassment, I was totally into it. I can carry Eli close to my body and my hands are free to throw Grover tennis balls, hold hands with my wife, open beers, etc. Hey...do you think I can incorporate the baby sling into my X-Box playing? The posibilities are endless.

p.s. Steve and Tom came over to play X-Box last night and look at the boy. It was hilarious to watch then attempt to whisper scream at the tv so as not to disturb the boy.

Eye Boogers

As you can guess, Diana and I have been pretty tired these last couple weeks, what with the night feedings and everything. Well, more Diana than me. The first couple days, whenever Eli so much as peeped I'd leap out of bed and help change diapers and adjust boob pillows and so forth. A couple days went by and when Eli would cry for his feeding, I'd roll out of bed, peek into his room to make sure he wasn't mauling Diana's boobs and then crawl back to bed. Now, I put Eli down after his witching hour and then I don't wake up until morning. I ask Diana to wake me up, but she says it's cruel. Did I mention I love her?

But I digress. People are tired here. So our night time activity revolves around watchng TV. Mostly HGTV, sometimes the Sopranos. But a few nights ago, we watched American Idol. You can imagine how tired we were that we couldn't turn off the show that represents the fall of Western Civilization. We spent the whole time saying how terrible it was. Seriously.

So the next morning rolls around and Eli had this crusty stuff all over his eyes. Eye Boogers. My baby boy got eye boogers from American Idol! So I immediately called my lawyer to file suit against the producers of American Idol. $2.5 million. Per eye. Now, my lawyer says the eye boogers are perfectly normal for babies and it's from clogged tear ducts and it will go away in a day or so. But I'm holding firm with my lawsuit. Stay tuned for the (positive, I'm sure) results.

Eli's first trip to the zoo

I found this picture today and it looks as though Eli is laying on top of some kind of Albino walrus. Ew.

The greatest discovery in the history of Eli

I'm not sure I can type this without crying. After much trial and error, I've finally figured out how to play X-Box while holding Elijah. Let me type this again for effect. I CAN PLAY X-BOX WHILE HOLDING ELI!

But...how, you may ask? Isn't holding a baby done with one's hands? And don't you play X-Box with your hands?

Oh, ignorant fools. I hesitate to explain my secret. But because I like you I'll let you in on it.

Step 1. Turn on X-Box, TV, Speakers, etc BEFORE finding a baby.

Step 2. Find a baby. Make sure baby has recently eaten/pooped so you have maximum playing time.

Step 3. Stretch your legs out on a couch high coffee table. Use a pillow to adjust the height of your legs. Blood rushing to baby's head ends X-Box time very fast.

Step 4. Position baby on your legs so he/she cradles between your legs. Do not allow baby to fall. Falling babies ends X-Box time even faster than blood rushing to baby's head.

Step 5. Enjoy X-Box.


I win because I get to: a) Play X-Box. b) Kind of hold my son.

Diana wins because: a) Husband out of way and she can watch HGTV. b) Sleeping baby semi observed so she can watch HGTV.

I'm sorry if I never post again because I CAN PLAY X-BOX WHILE HOLDING ELI.

And now a word from our fashion expert

Today I think I'll hand the blog over to our resident fashion expert, Rodney St. Sinclair. Take it away Rodney!

"Ooooh, thank you Ricky. Now listen up, girlfriends because today we're talking about the latest in new daddy fashion! That's right. The do's and don'ts for every brand new daddy from Milan to Evanston.

First up, the cornerstone to any new daddy fashion statement? Two words: Sweat. Pants. No self respecting daddy leaves the house to go pick up boob ointment unless he's fit snug into these stretchy numbers. Oh, and they have to be grey. Oh, and they simply have to be covered in baby puke. The more baby puke the better, girlfriends!

And what tops off a nice pair of sweats? That's right. A three day old t-shirt. I prefer purple, to go with the bags under daddy's eyes. But you do what you want, girlfriends. Oh, and if you have to ask if the shirt should be covered in baby puke than you aren't a daddy. Snap!

People ask me, 'Rodney? Can I wear slippers to Whole Foods?' I say, 'Are you a daddy? Then get yourself into some slippers, girl!'

And how do you top off a daddy outfit? That's right. Filthy baseball hat. Try to pick one that says, 'I haven't showered in 3 days and I'm loving it!'

That's all for me today, my sweeties. Next time we'll answer the question, 'Can my baby wear the same onsie three days in a row if it's only half covered in baby puke? Here's a hint. The answer is yes.'"

George Bush?

When Eli was first born, he...well...looked like George Bush. Now, since we live in Evanston Diana and I are required to be liberals. It's weird, they make you sign a liberal loyalty oath when you get your mortgage. It's the same thing they do in Jacksonville but with Republicans.

At first, we were a little concerned. We imagined walking around Liberal City USA with a mini George Bush. Old hippie women would peer into his stroller, "Oh my, look at the little darling...AAARRGH," and recoil in terror. He'd be shunned by the little patchouli stinking children in the neighborhood. Whole Foods would refuse to serve him.

But gradually over the last 9 days, he stopped looking like our current president.

And I gotta tell you, I kind of miss mini George. I had fantasies of him being a paid tiny George Bush impersonator. He would dress him up in a littel grey suit and we could get his cousin Finn to pretend to be his mini Secret Service agent. We could rent him out to car washes and mini mall openings.

But alas. We'll just have to make due with our cutest, non George Bush, baby.

Me versus Eli

Behind the scenes of our happy house, there's a war being waged. A cold war. The participants? Me and Eli. What's at stake? Changing table domination.

Eli's mission is to spray his da da with pee pee. My mission is to not get sprayed with pee pee.

Diana has already fallen prey to his urinary sniper fire. Twice. Eli: 2. Mommy: 0.

Eli has taken several shots at me, but with no success. A simple square of cotton has saved my life too many times to count (thank you Dave Hamann for the life saving tip).

He's crafty , that Eli. He usually waits until the middle of the night to attack. When I'm most likely not to use the pee pee shield. But I never fall for it. Who does he think I am? Mommy?

I hear him crying right now. The game is on...

Oh yeah? How far can you poop?

At about 9 this morning I lept out of bed because Diana shrieked in Eli's room. After a mini heart attack, I found Diana standing dumbfounded in front of the changing table. Eli, naked from the waist down, squirmed on his back with what can only be described as a look of utter satisfaction on his face.

Apparently, with his diaper off, the young man pooped with such ferocity that it nailed his dresser a full four feet away. Including a bit of shrapnel on the log where we keep track of his poop*.

Diana snapped me out of my stupor by saying, "Do something!" As I tried to mop up the splatter, Eli christened his mother with a giant stream of pee.

Good thing he's so darned cute.

*please see the definition of "irony" to fully appreciate this.

And now a word from the dog

I'm not very happy with yesterday's post, "Cutest Baby in the World?" Not funny. I have a feeling it's lack of sleep. So, I'm going to take a break and let Grover the dog write today's post. Take it away Grover.



'So last week the Man and the Woman took me to Doggie Daycare. But it wasn't Doggie Daycare, it was for three days. Talk about awesome. I got to play with the ball, hang out with the Brown Dog and the Black Dog and the Nice Lady. But after a day or so, I noticed the dogs were laughing behind my back. So I went up to Brown Dog and bit him on the butt and asked that the deal was.

"Oh, man. It's over," he snickered. So I bit him again on the butt (that's how I get his attention). Black Dog also came over and laughed at me.

"Your Man and Woman are bringing home a human puppy. You can poop cotton candy and they still won't pay attention to you once the human puppy comes. Get ready to make friends with the bookshelf."

After biting Black Dog on the butt, I went and asked the Nice Lady what the deal is with human puppies. But she doesn't speak Dog, so she took me out to pee. Which was fine because I left a tennis ball out there. So I let the matter drop. Afterall, I'm the baby. I can fetch, I know at least 5 Human words (they haven't taken the time to learn one Dog word, jerks) and I'm adorable.

Anyhoo, The Nice Lady took me home and wouldn't you know it, there was a freaking human puppy (Stupid Black Dog. Thinks she's so smart). I couldn't get a good look at it because it was all wrapped up (um, fur keeps you warm, human puppy) and the Woman was keeping it out of my reach. I was devastated. I began to look for the bookshelf.

But get this. Every time I sit around the human puppy, the Man and the Woman give me treats and say, "Blah blah blah good boy blah blah." I only know 5 words, but I speak treat, my friends. So, sit around the human puppy? Treat. Lay down around the human puppy? Treat.

It's been 5 days now and things are good. My treat intake is huge. The Man is home all the time and takes me for runs. Mostly when the human puppy is crying. And get this, the human puppy smells like poop! And you guys know how much I love the smell of poop.

That is all. Grover out.'

Cutest baby in the world?

Look, I know Eli is cute. Real cute. But...hmm...is he the cutest in the world? I had to know. Over the last 4 days I've searched the known continents for the cutest baby. You know, just to make sure. This is pretty difficult, considering Eli goes only two hours between poops.

After an exhaustive search, I've concluded that Eli in fact is the cutest baby in the world.


Second place goes to Linus Verhavenstein, from Stockholm. Congratulations, Linus.

First night with Eli, sans nurses

You know who did awesome on Eli's first night home? Eli. You know who else did awesome? Diana. You know who didn't do awesome? Me.

We threw the little guy into the co-sleeper at 9 and decided the family should turn in early. Grover positioned himself neatly between us (Grover is doing great with Eli. Adjusting to being #2 very well. Good boy). Di and Eli went to sleep knowing they'd meet eachother every 3 or so hours to bond over breastmilk.

When the lights went out, I began a paranoid fit that would make Nixon proud. Let's take you through just part of last night: Eli makes a slight sigh, Rick leaps out of bed and peers into the co-sleeper, Eli makes a "mew" noise, Rick leaps out of bed and peers into the co-sleeper, Eli farts, Rick leaps out of bed and peers into the co-sleeper...

The saddest part is I had to take a nap today while Diana played with Eli. I'm awesome.

Call your mom. Right. Now.

Saturday was officially "DIANA IS THE GREATEST WOMAN IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD" day.

Let me know if you've heard this one. Lady walks into a doctor's office. She says, "Doc, I feel great." Doc says, "You have a dangerous condition called Pre-eclampsia. It gives high blood pressure which is dangerous to you and the baby and can give you seizures. The only cure is to have this baby right now."

So not only does Diana have to have the baby a week early, they have to do this thing called an "EZ Catheter." Which is too painful and gross for me to describe on a family blog. I was great during the delivery. Great for the epidural. Great during the blood, goo, etc. But when they did the EZ catheter, I was sweating bullets and trying to figure out where to fall when I fainted.

Several hours later, I was fast asleep on our blue hospital chair when the nurse violently wakes me and says, "Mr. Hamann, it's time to push."

Oh let's see what else can go wrong? How 'about having the epidural wear off right when it's time to push?

Diana had to spend a good 20 minutes in extreme, Little House on the Prairie-style birthing. Meanwhile, the only way to lessen the pain is to try to get the baby out. But Dr. Miller was "on the way" and they asked Diana to wait for him. She hilariously informed the nurses that they were in a hospital, which is filled with doctors. Pick one and let's get going.

Good news, epidural re-applied. Pain gone. Baby good.

p.s. Diana's mantra during the bad 20 minutes? "Next time, adoption."

p.s.s Special shout out to Steve Hamann, who took down the "Ruby" letters from Eli's room so he didn't get a complex.

In the background, I distinctly heard God laughing.

Introducing, Elijah Steven Hamann!

You may be thinking, "Elijah? Elijah? Didn't you tell everyone on the planet you were having a girl? Don't you have a closet full of girl things? Specifically 4 purple dresses? Didn't you nail the name 'Ruby' to the wall of the baby room? Didn't you already sign her up for the 2025 Ms. America Pagent?"

Well, ahem, uh, here's the thing. We were told by the ultrasound lady that our baby was a girl. And, well, we believed her. Because she had on scrubs and a nametag and we didn't.

Cut to Saturday morning, April 14th, 5:05a.m.. Diana, having put forth a superhuman effort (more on that later), is crossing the finish line to motherhood. Dr Miller is calmly saying, "Here she comes...there's her head...she has a lot of hair...here she is...IT'S A BOY!"

Huh? What? Come again? Boy? Dr. Miller proved his point by displaying our child's angry angry testicles.

Hilarious. Wonderful. Beautiful baby Boy.

Special Little Guy

No baby today. So I've dedicated today's post to Grover, the bestest dog ever ever.

Have you ever noticed that Grover and Space Dog are never in the same room at the same time? Like for instance, yesterday I was throwing the ball to Grover in the backyard like I always do. Suddenly, a massive meteor comes hurtling towards Earth. Instead of standing there and taking armageddon like a man, Grover pantomimes like he left something on the stove. Which we all know isn't true because Grover doesn't have the opposable thumbs to work the stove. I digress. So Grover ducks under the doggy door.



Well, just as the meteor enters our atmosphere, Space Dog leaps into it's path and smashes it into a billion pieces with his fluffy black tail. My hero. Before I can thank him, or at least give him a Greenie-brand treat, poof. He's gone. Well, then guess who comes strolling back to the yard? Grover. Stinking of space. And instead of a tennis ball, he has this smoking chunk of rock in his mouth.

Needless to say, I lectured him pretty heavily about leaving things burning on the stove. And about how great Space Dog is and how much I wished Grover was more like him instead of a boring beat reporter for the Hamann Eggs Blog. But Grover just sighed and looked at me like I was an idiot.

Actually, Grover smashed his head on a tree today while chasing a ball. Get well soon, special guy.

Let's meet the team: Mommy.

No baby yet. She's still crammed into Diana's stomach, biting her spleen. Huh? What? You dont know Diana? Then why are you reading this blog, sicko? But since you're here, sicko, I'll clue you in on our mommy to be, Diana.

Nasa recently conducted a study trying to determine the cutest pregnant woman on the planet. Now, this was no easy task. There has to be at least eight or nine pregnant women on Earth at any given moment. But after ten years and roughly $1.2 billion of taxpayer dollars, they found their cutest pregnant woman: Diana, Marie Onassis Hamann. Just look at her. She seems so blissful and happy. I'm going to try to remember this photo while wiping baby puke off my favorite posession.

Diana's turn ons include wine, wine and books about wine. And HGTV. Her turn offs include things not put away.

T-Minus 11 Days

Let's see...crib? Check. A million diapers? Check. Blue thing to suck boogers out of baby nose? Check. The only thing left to do is create a kick ass blog for Baby Hamann. Please enjoy reading as baby joins the world and slowly but surely melts my brain. I imagine mid-May posts to look something like...

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