Wheeeeeeee!

I got to spend a non-working weekend with the family and man, it was fu-un. Elijah still looks at Di and me like we’re the two greatest people on the face of the Earth and I’m not about to shatter his worldview just yet.

Lately, Eli’s favorite activity is flying. If you lift him over your head, he lets out cackles of joy. If you add airplane or Superman noises, forget about it. The only danger is the occasional string of drool. Until Saturday.

Like most men, I prefer to select one outfit and go with it all weekend. Blue jeans, blue John Belushi “College” sweatshirt, mismatched Vans tennis shoes, see you Monday morning. Shower? No thank you.

Di was trying to have a real conversation on the phone with a real adult Saturday. I tried to distract her by flying Eli all over the kitchen. Then I got the brilliant idea of adding twirling to the fun. Round and round. Can you see where this is going?

Barf.

He may be a large for his age, but I had no idea his stomach could hold so much. Hair, Belushi sweatshirt, jeans, t-shirt, underwear. All covered.

But I still managed to make it through the weekend in the same clothes. Ask Diana. I’m a real prize.

p.s. We had to take poor Grover to the animal hospital over the weekend. He hurt his little paw-thumb and needed bandages. We tell people he’s going as Seabiscuit for Halloween.

Eli: 1 Bumbo: 0.

Take a look at a few of the last posts on Hamanneggs. You know that green thing Elijah is sitting in for, oh I don’t know, 99.9% of the photos? It’s called a “Bumbo.” The Bumbo corporation just recalled all of their products because babies fall out and smash their skulls. Particularly when the baby is seated in a Bumbo on a table or a kitchen counter.

Take another look at those past posts. Most of the time, ahem, Eli is perched on top of our kitchen counter. Duh…me father. Me care for tiny human. Duh.

Diana actually did a test with Eli and the Bumbo. She let him squirm around in it (On the ground, DCFS speed dialers). And sure enough, he managed to flip out of it and into Diana’s arms.

On a completely unrelated head smasher note, Eli popped out of his bouncy seat yesterday. Thankfully, he was on the floor and didn’t fall far. And he landed on carpet, and not onto the hard floor. Or onto broken glass. Or onto thumbtacks. Or onto a pile of tarantulas.

From now on he will be strapped tightly into his high chair. Or tightly onto Grover.

Redrum

Elijah is definitely trying to find his voice lately. He’ll go from little R2D2 beeps and burbs, all the way up to roaring like a tiny lion.

As he experiments, he’ll sometimes babble with a deep, scratchy voice that can only be described as that possessed kid from “The Shining.” I gotta tell you, it scares the crap out of me. And with the addition of babyfood into his repartee, the odds of projectile pea puke skyrocketed.

When he does the scary voice, I just chuckle and ask politely if it's only Elijah in there, all while examining his head for the sign of the beast. Thankfully, the only thing I find is the old remnants of his Cradle Cap. Ew.

In case you are wondering, we’re dressing Elijah up in a Tigger outfit for Halloween. Why? Because Diana made the grave mistake of sending me to Target to buy clothes for Elijah a few weeks ago. The manager couldn’t explain why Tigger costumes didn’t come in adult sizes, so I got one for the boy.

Expect cuter than cute photos soon.

Hanging With Baby

Last evening I went out to dinner with my agency colleagues. All very nice people, but to put it delicately, they like to partake in adult beverages. To put it bluntly, they’re humungous drunks. I knew I was in trouble when they suggested “Going to a German bar so we can order those steins, that are like, huge…”

So, I may have had a thimble full past my limit.

I woke up this morning to the sound of chunks of my brain rubbing together in my head. Slowly.

As I made my secret oath never, ever to visit a German bar again Diana bopped in carrying Elijah. “I have to take Grover to the groomer. So…here.” And hoisted a very awake Elijah onto my belly.

I carried him downstairs and learned a great lesson of fatherhood: Babies do not care if you are hung over. I suggested several games:

“Watch Daddy Rub His Temples.”

“Sit Quietly And Watch SportsCenter.”

“Lay On The Cold Cold Floor.”

None of which Elijah was into. I had to step it up and act like a fully functioning dad. Luckily once I was up and running my hangover stopped trying to assassinate me.

However, I’m going to suggest the library for our next agency outing.

Let’s Do The Time Warp Again

My dad called while I was walking Grover the other day. In the midst of our usual “Ain’t Elijah cute” banter he asked me if I felt like time was going fast.

And yeah, aside from the occasional 3-4am when time stands still, these last six months have flown by. Take today’s picture. Yeah, I know Eli is freakishly tall (mental note, install basketball hoop in living room) but he looks like a little boy already. I sometimes get a panicky feeling that his childhood is going to be over too fast. Like I’m going to look into his crib tonight and he’ll be shaving while reading Keats and drinking a martini.

If only there was some way of documenting every tiny detail of his life, complete with pictures. Possibly on the internet. And with a title that's a lame word play.

Baby Customs

When I travel internationally, I’m always a bit concerned about offending the local customs. Like giving the “V” sign to a Brit means giving them the finger. And sticking your middle finger up at someone in Atlanta means giving them the finger.

And apparently babies have customs too. Like it’s customary for an infant to try to pee on you whenever possible. And when a father has an important client meeting, it’s customary for a baby to puke all over his freshly pressed shirt.

As you know, Elijah turned six months old yesterday. And I guess the custom is for the baby to give his parents a gift. Because he slept for 12 freaking hours last night. 6:30pm to 6:30am.

There was much dancing and celebrating and not rubbing of the eyes this morning. I even allowed Elijah to watch TV as a reward. We try to avoid letting him watch the boob tube because we don’t want him to have trouble concentrating like his dad.

What were we talking about?

6 Months

The little hand is on October and the big hand is on the 14th. Do you know what that means? It’s Elijah Steven Hamann’s six month birthday! Can you freaking believe it?

Six months is the perfect opportunity to do a clip show. It’ll give you new readers a chance to catch up. Cue the harp music…

Remember when we thought Eli was a girl? It was a lot harder to get used to a child with a wang than we thought.

Remember when Eli pooped so hard he hit the dresser 3 feet away? Which was the first of many many scatological entries on the blog.

Remember when he looked like George Bush? There wasn’t a plastic surgeon on the planet who would return our calls.

Remember when Eli had terrible eye boogers? Remember when Eli had terrible regular boogers?

Remember when Elijah decided he hated being outside of the womb? Remember when Eli had terrible acid stomach? In a related blog, remember when I chucked a bottle across the house out of frustration? That goes into my father of the year essay.

Remember when I hid Elijah’s belly button on Di’s computer? It still hasn’t turned up.

Remember when Eli barfed down my back and Grover ate it? They’ve been friends ever since.

Remember when Eli grew his Hamann belly? Grandpa Al is smiling down on us.

Remember when he screamed his way through the 4th of July?

Remember his disgusting cradle cap head? I just got the shivers.

Remember when he stared laughing? It was like discovering ice cream tastes good.

Remember when Grover knocked Eli over in his stroller? I’m gonna put that up as Worst Trip To Starbucks Ever.

Remember when Elijah got his first fever and we loaded him up with so much Tylenol he slept through the night?

Remember when Eli decided he was going to be a happy baby? In a related note, remember when the clouds parted and the sun came out?

Remember when Diana had terrible ear surgery and I had to assume the role of caretaker? Remember when everyone stepped up and protected Elijah from my role of caretaker?

Remember when he started rolling over? Remember when I worked so much that I didn’t get to see him roll over?

Remember when he turned six months old? Wait…

Thanks for hanging in there, guys. It’s been a pleasure taking you along for the ride.

Melons

Not those kind of melons, you sickos.

For the most part, Hamanneggs is an open book into the lives of me, Di, Elijah. And Grover. You know, poo, sleepless nights, poo. But there are a few things that I’ve kept out of the blog. Like that time I was exhausted and smashed Eli’s face on my shoulder when I lifted him out of the crib. Or a few other things that Diana threatened me with my life if I revealed.

One of the things I’ve kept out of print is Eli’s head. When he arrived on the earth, Eli’s head was a little misshapen. And always laying on his back made his head even more misshapen. So much so that he developed a condition that doctors call “Mushy Head Syndrome.” Ok, that’s not what it’s called but I can’t remember and I don’t feel like looking it up on the internet. You can reverse MHS by putting babies on their stomach or keeping them upright when they eat.

But in severe cases babies have to wear a helmet because they can have complications and in rare cases brain damage.

It’s a huge bummer because they have to wear a helmet. Not to mention the fact that they have to wear a helmet. For the last few months we’ve been taking Eli to a melon specialist who was leaning towards making my son look like a Chicago Bear. It’s no coincidence that the specialist also sells helmets.

Well, good news. Yesterday was our last consultation with our doctor and everyone decided Elijah did not, in fact, need a helmet. Whew.

Why did I keep it out of the blog? The jinx, man. The jinx.

p.s. Elijah is still in the 95 percentile in height. We’re going to have to move him to a toddler car seat. We’re also changing his name to Kareem Abdul Jabbar Hamann.

My love

Before I had a son, one of my friends who was a father said, “Having a baby really makes you realize your capacity for love…” I nodded and slowly backed away, dialing the insane asylum on my cell phone. Yeah, I have the number for the insane asylum on my cell phone. You’ve met my brother Steve, haven’t you?

Back to me. I’ve found over the last six months that my friend was right. I simply love Elijah. I couldn’t imagine life without him spitting on me, screaming in my ear and poking my eyeballs. He can do no wrong in my eyes. Hmm. That feels like foreshadowing for something that will happen 5 years from now.

But you know what else? My capacity for love of Diana has skyrocketed now that she’s Eli’s mom. Yeah yeah yeah, I loved her before. I mean, I asked her to marry me. But now, when I catch her singing a ridiculous song while changing his diaper, I buckle over with love. And when she uses her silly Eli voice (which consists of lowering her voice an octave and saying “Tummy Time” repeatedly), I look over at Grover and say, “Can you believe I get to be married to this woman?”

And then Grover looks at me as if to say, “Wait a minute. I thought I was married to her…” And then Grover and I have a knife fight.

Hello there

Sorry I haven’t posted in a while. My job keeps me at the office until ridiculous hours at night. The only thing that keeps me going is horribly embarrassing photos like today’s.

Speaking of night, we have a new nap schedule for the boy and its resulting in less all nighters. And even the occasional sleep past 5a.m.

But we still like to bring him in the bed for some “Boo” and spit time before I have to get up and at ‘em.

Elijah is still at that stage where he doesn’t really know a lot about what’s happening outside of his eye range. He’ll look over at me and give a big smile. Then Diana will say something and he’ll look over at her, with a look that says, “Well hello there. Aren’t you the lady I came out of?” Then he’ll look over at me with a look that says, “Oh, when did you come in? Aren’t you the guy with the hilarious Boo joke?” Then he’ll hear Di and start it all over again. “Nice of you to join us…” Meanwhile, Grover paces back and forth with a look that says, “Hello? Dog with a full bladder over here!”

Eli also adds a bit of eye hand coordination. He’ll grab my nose. Or Di’s nose, or pull the rare and awesome double nose grab. He also has, on occasion, grabbed my Adam’s Apple. Hard. Hard enough to close all the wind off except enough for me to whisper, “Don’t…kill…me…son.”

He’s surprisingly strong.

Blinded By Science

The last HamannEggs post included the sentence “As soon as he realized they had X &Y chromosomes he turned on the charm.”

I received several emails and posts pointing out the fact that women have 2 X Chromosomes, not an X&Y. Fact checkers, thank you for the catch. The post has officially been revised.

Your reward is today’s hilarious Eli picture. While you’re checking, here are some other science facts I’m planning on using in future posts:


Thunder is bowling matches in Heaven.

Penguins live underground and speak Spanglish.

Uncle Dick Hamann was a Podiatrist.

Electricity was discovered by The Maytag Repair Man.

The Periodical symbol for Bacon is “Bn.”

Our universe could, like, totally be an atom in some giant’s fingernail.

Line Up, Ladies.

I’ve noticed something over the last couple of weeks. Elijah likes him the ladies. I brought him to the office for a few hours last Friday for another lesson in "Never do what daddy does." And, as usual, my female co-workers were uncontrollably dragged over to the child by their uteruses.

As soon as he realized they had 2 X chromosomes he turned on the charm. Hard. He was Mr. Bat Of The Eye. Then he was Senior Coy Little Grin. At which point he turned into Monsieur Peek A Boo.

And when my Dad’s family showed up on Saturday? Eli was all about the women. Grandma? Bam. Brother's girlfriend? Pow. Sure, he’d throw the men an occasional smirk. Maybe a “Goo goo,” but he’s been girl crazy lately.

Look out, puberty.