Indiana Baker and the Diaper* of Doom.

*That's 'nappy' for all my non-American future minions.

Greetings, loyal subjects,

It's been a busy couple of weeks here in bellyomom. The female (which I have dubbed 'mother') is keeping me well supplied with milk, fruit and chocolate, and I am rewarding her nightly with a little something I like to call the leg stretch serenade. As soon as I feel her getting comfy, I let fly with a couple of doozies, just to remind her how grateful I am for putting me up for these past months.
I have also perfected the art of laying completely still whenever the balding oaf places his hands on the exterior of my pad.
I live to hear him complain.

Onto the main thrust of my missive.

It appears that my alleged parents recently threw a party for four days, calling it 'NobbyCon' and inviting nerds from all over the country to come and revel in the delights of something called 'Indiana Jones'. They appeared to be having a jolly time - even when the balding oaf pulled out bugs and chilled monkey brains and expected his guests to eat them.



With my navel periscope I was able to join in the fun as they took me to the cinema once again and subjected me to pounding noise and thrilling adventures featuring a very old man in a nice hat. Everyone seemed to be very happy, and none more so than my alleged parents, especially when some of the guests pulled out baskets of gifts for me - yes me.

I must say I was rather touched, and peered on with great interest as they pulled out item after item, each one very useful to a small chap like me, and mostly depicting a Star Wars theme (whatever that is).

Here, just take a look at the pile of presents I received (I've just got out of the darkwomb where I've been developing these prints).


Quite a haul, eh?

It would appear that I have more aunties and uncles than I first anticipated!

Along with Uncle Paul, Uncle Parm, Auntie Julie and Uncle Big Neil, I now have:
Auntie Robin AKA Jedi Master Mina; Auntie Missy AKA Hansgirl; Auntie Julie AKA Jazzie; Auntie Kathy AKA Galactic Babe; Auntie Melinda AKA JediMelindaWolf; Auntie Bethany AKA jediprincess77; Auntie Stacy AKA Senator Soph-ia; Auntie Erika AKA E&HF5, Uncle YZ and Auntie Rachelle AKA Stooge and Stoogess; Auntie Marie and Uncle Terry AKA Granny and Hubby Wan; Auntie Carrie AKA PS77; Auntie Erica AKA Anakinside1; Auntie Pam AKA Amidalooine; Uncle Troy and Auntie Brandy AKA T-Bone and Wifey; Auntie Jay AKA Mo2YP; Auntie Lisa AKA Pug; Auntie Lisa 2 AKA Oboe-Wan; Auntie Michelle AKA Shelly Beanz and Uncle Tommy AKA Deej!!

I'm one lucky little guy.

And so it begins...

Good day, future minions,

I had long suspected that my guards, the one known as mother and the one known as baldy, were slightly geeky. Yesterday confirmed my fears.

Through extensive use of my navel periscope and by pressing my semi-formed ear to the wall of 'bellyomom', I was able to acertain that my alleged parents had taken me to yet another 'convention'. Let me tell you, there is nothing conventional about these events, unless a large, musty hall filled with large, musty nerds buying large, musty toys and comics is indeed conventional.

However, I threw myself into the swing of things, and even wore my foetus grade spock ears (not that anyone noticed) in an attempt to blend in a little better.

After much traipsing around various stands, and spending my future college fund on assorted, unnecessary baubles, my guardians finally arrived at a table where a young man from New Zealand sat and chatted to them for a long time about something called Star Wars, and the starvation tactics used by someone called George to make him scowl on set. This young man was an actor called Daniel Logan, and it appears that he portrayed something called 'Young Boba Fett' in something called 'Attack of the Clones'.

This is all very confusing for a foetus.

As the conversation continued, though, I discovered that he was an extremely nice fellow, and extremely willing to write his name on photographs of himself for other people. When he saw my carrier's swollen belly, he immediately insisted on writing his name on one of these photographs for me - and here it is!

My alleged parents were delighted, and I must say I was rather touched by his generosity. So much so, that I think I've developed a taste for gathering people's names on photographs.
Mother, father, take me to another convention, immediately!

"Hello everybody. My name is Harrison, and I am a geek."

Winding up father

Salutations subjects,

Well, it's been a week since my irresponsible parents took me to see Iron Man, and my amniotic sack is still quivering.

Other than subjecting a poor, innocent foetus to the pounding soundtrack of a summer blockbuster, my guards appear to be treating me just fine. We went for our monthly check-up today, and the nice Dr. Crowe said that mother's blood pressure and weight are perfect, and that I am growing at a goodly rate. Here is evidence to prove it.
You will notice I have finally finished the extension I have been working on.


I currently have a rather jolly wheeze going on with my alleged father. I kick and bounce around, all to my mother's chagrin, at which point she insists on grabbing father's hand and forcing him to feel her belly. However, as soon as I sense his sweaty mitt in my proximity I lay perfectly still - thus causing much disappointment and antagonism in the outside world. Well, I have to find something to do to stop myself going stir-crazy.
I have heard father remark on several occasions that he intends communicating with me via rhythmic tapping on the outer wall of 'Bellyomom', much in the same way naked mole rats communicate with David Attenborough.
Father is an idiot.

On a lighter note, I thought you might like to see the latest fashions that every well-heeled baby should be wearing this Fall.

The first outfit came from an old lady who claims to be my grandparent, and who shall henceforth be known as 'Short Round'. She believes I will be a pilot - well, it's true, I like a drink...


The second top came all the way from jolly old England, sent by the woman who shall henceforth be known as 'Granny Annie' - she has good taste - I think I like robots.


The third outfit came from my guards, who saw it at WonderCon (some type of nerd gathering place) and just had to buy it. Listen, if I went around around buying the first things I saw, then we would be up to our knees in gloop and stomach lining.



And so, I must bid you adieu. It's time to start kicking again as I can detect that mother has got comfortable on the new couch and is thinking about having a nap.

We'll soon see about that!

Boom, Boom, Shake the Womb!

We meet again - but this time I have the upper hand!

Yes, 'tis I, the handsomest foetus in this whole land (that I have recently dubbed 'Bellyomom')

I have some interesting updates for you, namely a new photograph of my home (you will see it is getting larger, I had an extension put on) and some images of baby clothes that my hopeless parental units claim they will be using to cover up my shame when I am finally out of this accursed cell. However, that blog will just have to wait a while, as I must share with you my newest adventure.

Not only has the patriarch of my future family been playing his ridiculously thumpy music in the car every time we travel somewhere in the hope that I will learn to sleep through it, but both he and the female thought it would be a good idea to take me to see something called a 'Summer movie'. According to my Gregorian calendar, Summer is nowhere near, and I believe my fears have been realised - their minds are indeed scrambled.
All the easier to dominate I suppose.

On the car ride to our new destination, the male guard kept wittering on about somebody called Iron Man, and how it would be 'good for Harry to experience his first loud movie'.

Number one, it's Harrison, you idiot, and number two.... well, he shall face the wrath of my number twos in a few months, so we have that to look forward to.

Moments later we were enclosed in a dark room and my carrier began sending pieces of heat expanded corn my way. Extraordinary stuff, and yet strangely delicious.

Suddenly, it was "Good, Good, Good... Good Vibrations" (I hope you are appreciating the musical theme of this entry, it's not easy Googling appropriate song titles when one's fingers are so tiny and there's barely enough room in here for me and a keyboard (thank heavens for flat screen monitors)) as the event unfolded.

Via my navel periscope I was able to make out some blurred images of something shiny and loud, and with each successive supersonic boom or mighty punch to a swarthy solar plexus, the walls of Bellyomom shook in a most pleasing manner.
I must say, I rather enjoyed this 'Iron Man'. I know the parental units did and they wouldn't stop jabbering on about it as we drove home.


I did another search and was able to find a decent poster to print out and pin to the lining of my cell - Iron Man is surely a hero and role model to growing babies everywhere, after all, anyone who endorses the consumption of liver and spinach must surely be sound of mind and strong of moral fibre.

Well, I must adjourn, but until the next blog (which will be along in a few short days) I will leave you with this thought... if vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?

Later, HJB.