Baby Ian

So. Long time, no see. It's only been... what? Twenty-three days since my last post? I don't know. I've been busy at work and, eh, tired. Very tired.

I feel like I must apologize to my ardent readers who send bags of fan-mail and request Winiferd in the Burb t-shirts (please start sending bags of fan-mail and requesting Winiferd in the Burb t-shirts. God knows, no one else does). 

To make it up to you, here are some scrumptious scans of Ian as a baby. We spent several days with Ian's mom recently and took the opportunity to scan eight billion childhood photos of Ian:

Oh man, I can't even handle this photo. He's like the Gerber Baby meets Buddha, completely calm, serene, and blissed the hell out.

Baby in a bow-tie

Baby hypnosis?

The forehead wrinkles slay me. He's like a puppy.

Baby Beef-Cake on the beach

Looking a bit Hugh Hefner 

Learning to walk. And work his angles. Both very important life skills.

Ian told me, "That car seat was so hot." I, on the other hand, can't remember a darn thing about my toddler car seats.

Forget all the baby-cute stuff for a minute. I think we can all agree this picture is terrifying.

I mean, you would suspect he was a beautiful child, but damn if his parents couldn't have sold this kid off to the advertising world.

"And here we have four-year-old Ian modeling K-Mart's latest in overalls. Only $8.95 at any participating K-Mart."

Ian's most smoldering preschool look

SMILE WITH YOUR EYES

This was a common theme throughout the photo albums. Beats the hell out of me if he actually used the real swings. I saw no photographic evidence.

He wore lots of costumes: bunny, Indian, Pilgrim, Indian...

Eh. That bow tie and hat aren't really big enough to look authentic.

Real Native American men wear pink.

I have tons more, but Spottswood's feeling jealous that everyone's cooing over Ian instead of him. So this will have to do.