Gueeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeest blooooooooooooooog!!!!! I feel like I need to yell that out every time I jump on here a la Missy Elliot on a remix track. It’s good to be back. Page, thank you for having me back.
Let’s get right into this – check out the picture to your right – we got it yesterday from our latest doc visit. I dare you to show me a funnier ultrasound picture. Yes, that’s the Lil’ Flinglet curling up its arm and kissing its well-defined left bicep. You can’t make this stuff up. I don’t think it would be that funny to me if it wasn’t such a spitting image of its father. That’s right – I am “Crazy Bicep Man.”
Let me give you a little back story. I don’t lift weights. I may “go to the gym,” but the extent of it is about 30 minutes on the treadmill. The last time I lifted weights was at our old place in Hoboken when I used our new member free training session coupon. Fifteen minutes into the session I puked. Seriously. My trainer was floored. He offered me a make-up session for free. I passed. Then I went home and passed out. In college, however, to keep up with some buddies who lifted weights, I would tag along and put in a “workout.” It wasn’t until about the third or fourth visit like this that a friend of mine looked over and asked, “are you doing another arm workout?” I didn’t know how to respond. Yes, I happened to be doing my 81st set of free-weight curls, but, well, that’s all I knew how to do. My buddy looked at me, looked at my pathetic workout technique and wannabe arms and said, “who are you, Crazy Bicep Man?”
Years later, my biceps are neither crazy nor manly. I may have strung together three years of arm toning-only gym visits, but I have nothing to show for it. My offspring sure does, though! Look at him…her…it!?! Amazing. Little did I know that all those curls would drop its signature on my DNA, only to reemerge when “Lil’ Bicep It” was set to come into the world. Sigh…
OK, I’m off. Now, if you’ll excuse me… I need to get back to curling my rolodex.
