blargblog
An expulsive extension of
Owen & Katie introduces my 6-yr-old niece Katie to the blargblogosphere. And shows off how cute the kids are together.
It's been a while since I last posted some pics of Owen. Not that I stopped taking them, but that I had no time to post them. So Owen: 5 Months + documents a few of his developments, mentally and socially. And, as always, I cherry picked the cute stuff.
Owen: Leaping Baby! is really just a random collection of shots that I have strung together in a loose narrative. Which makes this different from the other Blaby™ postings how? Ah, well, for those who need a Blaby™ fix, enjoy.
A quick note to point out a new icon leading to the Baby Babylon Archive.
Many thanks to Jay for making the t-shirt. He also made the "blaby!" t-shirt as well as another one we have not photographed Owen wearing yet. They are all awesome. Hopefully Jay will get his blog finalized and I can link to him so y'all can see what a swell fellah he is.
At 7:58 this morning, Owen achieved another developmental landmark. Jenn was changing his diaper, an event that often makes him so happy, he rolls about and smiles, emitting little cooing noises. But today his reaction was slightly different. He laughed. An actual giggle, a "ha-ha"! Talk about making the rest of your day.
Earlier that morning he displayed yet another mark of maturity—he watched television! Okay, I suppose that doesn't sound so hot, what with how rotten "the idiot box" can be, but still: it was the first time he paid attention to a medium of communication with both aural and visual stimulation. Music always soothes his inner savage beast, but I have not observed that he was actively listening to the music, making out the sounds as a discrete artifice. Yet today I could tell that he was paying acute attention to what was on the television screen.
And what was he watching? C-Span coverage of the 9/11 commission hearings? Matt Lauer's fawning interview with some doofus celebrity? No. It was Boohbahs.
A visit to the Boohbah Zone and PBS's parent and teacher guide will still not prepare the unitiated for the mind-tripping intensity of this program. I grew up on H.R. Pufnstuf and had seen Lewis Black's Daily Show take on the Boohbahs, but even then I was disarmed by the psychedelic nuttiness of the show.
But possible drug-content isn't the core of controversy surrounding this new creation from Anne Wood, the woman who gave us the reassuring Teletubbies, the quallude to the Boohbah's stricnine-laced blotter acid. (Er, or so I can only guess...cough.) The main problem for childhood development specialists concerns a discrepancy between the Woods' stated target audience and the show's actual content, which seems more appealing to children under the age of two. As reported by David Zurawick of the Baltimore Sun (actual link to Dallas-Fortworth Star Telegram):
Dr. Stacey O. Irwin, who teaches a course in children and television at Towson University in Maryland, sees a disconnect between such onscreen behavior and the target audience claimed by Wood and PBS.The American Academy of Pediatrics, the group's official title, provides some common sense guidelines for parents to use in regulating their child's television exposure."The Web site for Boohbah says it is for children 3 to 6, but I think the content is a bit young for that age group," said Irwin, the mother of children ages 3 and 6. "I think they probably do not want to admit that children 2 and under are viewing it because the American Pediatrics Association strongly states that there should be no television for that age group."
I confess: We watch a lot of boob tube. Not always good boob tube, either. Not just news and educational stuff (which have their own ideological issues, but that's another matter for another post). We will watch some really dumb shit. I am fascinated by The Apprentice, Jenn is a Trading Spaces addict, I really do love Raymond (mostly because of Brad Garrett). Often while feeding the bottomless well my son has turned into, I'll flip on the tube just to keep myself awake or entertained in a lukewarm fashion by whatever dreck is on. Negotiating child, bottle, cloth to wipe up drool (the "blooby cloth") and the latest issue of The NY Review of Books can pose a challenge to one's sense of balance and coordination.
The Multnomah County Library sent us a package the other day. It included a bookmark, pamphlets, a video and Read to Your Bunny. And I did. Owen loved it. And the twenty minutes the book recommends is a good approximation of his attention span, because when I then switched to reading another book, Tony Millionaire's Sock Monkey: A Children's Book, Owen got restless and agitated. I don't think the two are actually connected.
Today we explore
the many moods of Owen Robert Moore.
Truth, there are few moods to explore
Of Owen Robert Moore
But that's what shrinks are for.
Let's hope that's not in store,
Or so his daddy will implore,
For poor little Owen Robert Moore.
Here are a few pics of Owen playing at home, which is about as unified a theme as I could muster. Since he's always playing, sleeping, eating or pooping, there aren't many options of photography subjects. Not that anyone really cares. What matters is seeing cute baby pictures. Enjoy.
This Saturday I met fellow bloggers Barry and Raznor at Kim & Matt's place, where once again Owen and Sydney got a chance to get acquainted. Some progress was made: Sydney spent some time observing a sleeping Owen. For his part, Owen, well, slept. Eventually Sydney lost consciousness herself and the results, though not very animated, are lively in their cuteness.
I get all the baby love. (Photo by Matt)
Same pose, different angle. Double the baby, quadruple the cheeks. (Photo by Kim.)
Don't let Amy's online persona fool you—she's a soft touch.
Owen gives props to the Demented Lawyer.
Owen: Worship the Blaby explains why we call him "blaby." Kinda. Lotsa cute pics, of course. Enjoy!
(photo by Patrick)
We took Owen in for his Measles-Mumps-Rubella shots yesterday—gotta beef up the herd immunity, y'know—and while we were there, we took new measurements. In short, Owen has grown 4" longer to 24.55" and has doubled his birth weight, coming in at a hefty 15lb-14oz. What a chubster!
Owen grew. That's right—"Growen Owen!" So naturally his fiendish parents have put him in a new outfit. Yes, it's blue. But, c'mawn, blue is a good color. He has blue eyes, too, so he looks really good in it. Besides, click through and look at that get-up. Not exactly butch. Adorable, though. Especially when he keeps smiling like that.
Yesterday, Kim & Matt (along with mad blogger Bean) brought over their beautiful daughter Sydney, who is a month older than Owen. Naturally there was much picture taking. Here is my account, with a few narrative embellishements. Owen had never met a girl his own age before, so I think he was feeling a little awkward. That, and he's, y'know, 5 weeks old.
Also: If all that doesn't satisfy your Owen hunger, here is a sequence taken a couple weeks ago in which Owen gets Oedipal on my ass.
Well, waddaya expect? A piano recital? He's one month old, fer chrissakes.
He did achieve a few things: He can raise his head on his own, he makes eye contact for increasing periods of time and he stays alert much longer, too. He grew a few more inches, his head is much rounder and he weighs a bit over 9lbs.
In other words—he's a genius! A veritable prodigy! A year from now, he'll be reciting his own State of the Union Address (or Inaugaration Speech, as the case may be).
It's been almost a week since I posted new photos of the kid. How derelict of me! This time the theme is fashion. The suits shown here represent only a fraction of the numerous little outfits and jumpers and other cute little things that Jenn and I and the grandmas and friends and coworkers have bought for him. Babies make even the most embittered anti-capitalist a frenzied consumer. Cuz, jeez—look at those little booties! They're so tiny! Omigod!
If you feel it's necessary, you are encouraged to use this post as a springboard for a discussion on gender socialization, the baby goods consumer industry, waste, landfills, what-have-you. But be sure to coo and aww before you do. It's only human.
Some more pictures of Owen at home. This time they are totally random. I picked out the best and/or silliest ones for my own and possibly your amusement. At this point I have taken enough pictures to document nearly every day of Owen's two-and-a-half week existence. I'm a tad obsessed, ya might say.
There are also pics of his parents, especially Jenn, who tolerates my papparazzi behavior like the patient sport she is.
And yes, I realize how incredibly self-indulgent all this is, especially what with a war on terrorism and a war by the government on its people and so on. But it's like Voltaire said, sometimes ya gotta tend to your own garden.
In an email I received today an old friend of mine, noting that we often had fun inverting people's names and saying them backward, asked me if something similar was going on with the names I chose for my sone, Owen Robert:
>Now what with our penchant for turning names backward, is there a reference to Robert Owen happening with the little one?Robert Owen was a 19th Century industrialist who advanced a form of cooperative socialism as an alternative to capitalism. Ya can learn more about him here.
To answer my friend's question—I may think I'm a clever cartoonist, but I'm not that clever. Still, I like the coincidence all the same.
Or: Proud Papa Gets Self-Indulgent.
But then, it is a blog. Anyhoo, here are more pics documenting Owen's last day in the hospital, his first day at home and his first Christmas. We were released yesterday at about 12:30pm, got home, and ran a million errands. Somewhere in between we managed to relax. As we went to bed, we changed out six diapers in one hour, fed him three times and burped him... a lot.... People had warned us that we wouldn't use the crib first night. It's true: he wound up sleeping on our chests as we took turns. But that's okay. I don't think there is anything more relaxing than sleeping with a baby on your chest. Until he starts crying, of course.
As the homepage tells you, there is no cartoon this week. It's all Owen's fault. He came early. Which, in my view, is right on time. I couldn't be happier.
Yeah, yeah, I hear you saying. Show us the pictures. No problem: here are four for now. Expect more to come soon.
Jenn is still at the hospital, but she should be released in the next day or two. I just dropped by the house to check on the dogs, run some errands and, of course, blog all this stuff, cuz I'm completely giddy. Speaking of the dogs—many, many, many effusive thanks to our friends Patrick and Kelly for staying at the house this weekend to keep the poor animals company. And all the other great things you do for us that I won't list here for fear of embarrassing you further. You guys rock.
It was all quite sudden when Jenn's water broke Thursday night. I was looking at the awesome pictures taken by NASA's Spitzer Space Telescope, amazed at their clarity and insights into previously unknown worlds. Now my focus has narrowed considerably upon this previously unknown human. It's gonna take more than Photoshop to bring them together, of course. But wow. I am hopeful. Excited. A bit delirious. And insanely happy.
Hope all of you are doing well out there. You may not hear much from me until next week. Nothing personal. It's all about the baby. ;)
As my friend Kelly put it, ouch:
An Omaha woman has given birth to a 14-pound, 3-ounce girl.While people tend to overcharacterize birth as a "miracle", I'd say this one more or less fits the bill.Jirong Long required a Caesarean section to deliver Virginia Wenjing You on Nov. 26. Virginia is the largest baby delivered at Creighton University Medical Center in its 130-year history, spokesman Ed Finan said.
...
Long is about 5 feet 4. She weighed 130 pounds before her pregnancy and peaked at 192 while she was expecting.
Jenn and I have had competing predictions on the actual sex of the baby we're expecting. She thought boy, I thought girl, neither prediction based on anything more than a hunch. Well, she being more intimately connected—make that literally connected—to the baby, it stands to reason that her speculations benefitted from insider trading. We went to an ultrasound appointment today, and sho nuff, it's a boy.
So, without further ado, meet Owen. The following are four sonogram pictures, the first images of our future son:
• In The Womb—here he is, chillin' in his crib. So to speak. We actually haven't bought the crib yet. He looks pretty laid back, but the camera lies. He's a real active little guy, very restless. He kept moving around, kicking his legs and swinging his arms, making it difficult for the nurse to get a good read on him. Looks like Papa will have to get his lazy cartoonin' ass in shape.
• The Dinger—This pic confirms his boyhood. I love the ultrasound's use of an arrow to indicate precisely where the little dinger is. Still, after only 20 weeks in the womb, he's got his daddy beat. Curse of the Scotch-Irish, I reckon.
• In Profile—A close-up of Owen's face. Chubby cheeks, big baby head. Wudga-budga-wudga. Woo.
• In Profile, Again—This time with more clarity. No telling at this point whom he takes after, but we can guarantee a few things: the nose will be big and the hair a thick curly mess, something he should savor until baldness begins to strike at about 25. It happened to Jenn's brother, it'll happen to Owen—such are genetics. Kip, who wears his baldness with grace and style, might have some pointers to offer. Until then, I condone purple mohawks, giant afros or whatever else the kid decides to do with his luscious glory. So long as he keeps his grades up.
