Month: April 2006

Dear Charlie,

Is this how our life is going to be — one constant competition to see who can one-up each other?

Jeez, sounds like our fathers.

Sure, you may have arrived in this world first, but man, there were some things you missed out on by not staying inside your mom’s womb for a few more weeks.

Instead you had to flaunt to the entire world your full mane of hair. At least I wasn’t far behind on that front and we’ve both got more than my dad.

Well, there were a few drawbacks of arriving later. Maneuverability became similar to driving in Seattle at rush hour. I guess that’s what happens when you come out at 8 pounds, 3 ounces. Whatever mom was eating sure gave me a constant case of the hiccups. And for goodness sake, could dad get the remote out of mom’s hands once or twice to watch something other than the 26 versions of Law and Order? I can’t walk, but I can prosecute a murder case.

But, it was kind of cool sticking out my knees and elbows and making my mom’s stomach look like some odd form of abstract art. And you can’t argue against a diet of ice cream, ice cream and more ice cream.

I will be calling upon you for advice in the coming months. I mean, you have exactly a two week headstart on all those joyous things we’re about to experience: diaper rash, teething, pooping ourselves, pooping on our dads. I’m going to need to know all the idiosyncrasies of accomplishing those tasks in the most efficient manor (especially the pooping on dad part).

Cheers my friend. Now begins our partnership as Zillionaire-brethren driving our fathers on a daily basis ever closer to insanity.

Sincerely,
Logan Dale Booth (sure to be known to all Zillionaires as Booth, Jr.)

My son Charlie clearly had enough of the womb. Even though it meant being born seven weeks early, he busted out last Thursday. After reflecting on his situation, I really can’t argue with his decision.

Consider the following:

The Food: For the entire gestation period, my wife has been force-feeding my son a steady diet of veggie bowls and yogurt smoothies. No prime rib. No pizza. No cheeseburgers. In other words, he’s been severely malnourished. You pretty much know the food is bad when the baby is actually looking forward to an exclusive diet of breast milk.

The Conversation: Trapped inside his mother’s uterus, my son was essentially a captive audience. And needless to say, my wife is not exactly Cedric The Entertainer. Essentially Charlie was forced to spend the last seven months listening to all of my wife’s interminable work stories. At least I had mobility, and could simply walk away mid-sentence during the third consecutive story about paper jams or the office printer being short of toner. Poor Charlie didn’t even have the dexterity to cover his ears. Frankly, I think he bolted just to hear something more stimulating, like the low buzz of hospital machinery.

The Television: There are few things more frustrating in life than to not be in control of the remote. I saw this coming once Gonzaga’s basketball season ended. Charlie was back to watching my wife’s sweet TV lineup of Desperate Housewives and The Gilmour Girls. In fact, I’m pretty sure all of this started during an episode of Oprah… Only it wasn’t labor. Charlie simply tunneled his way out like in the movie “The Shawshank Redemption.”

So Charlie, I don’t blame you one bit. If anything, I’m surprised you were able to hold out as long as you did. In light of the circumstances, I’m convinced that you decided to bolt early just so you could hang with your Dad. Fellow Zillionaires, please welcome the newest member to our ranks: Charlie Ryan Ring, The Centaur Jr.