"Sorry, no autographs please"

First-things-first, it's time to recognize those in the TJA. That's right, the avid followers of the Tight Jean Army. I salute those who rock the stretched denim so flush to skin that air refuses to dive below the belt.

We're only three-strong right now, but this elite fraternity will be taking pledges soon. For now, please let me introduce the founders of the TJA (also known as "Blog Followers")...

Kristen "Buns of Denim Steel" Miller, President - As wife and mother, please ensure our son's Wranglers are one size too small. Simply put, middle school girls should scream for his posterior like Diack at a Spice Girls concert.

Bridget "Denim Diaper" Gregg, Rush Chair - Being my son's future mother-in-law, please ensure McCall is immediately fitted with a tight denim diaper. The TJA must adhere to a strict dress code...

Kelli "Any Comment Related To Tight Denim And My Sister-In-Law Might Put Me Sleeping In The Bonus Room" Masters, Pledge Marshall - Sole recruiter to the TJA.

**For you three who blindly follow this blog, thank you. T-shirts are currently in production**

Alright, let's chat about my unborn son:

This weekend, my entire family got to see Price for the last time while burrowed deep in the bosom. In just a mere seven weeks, he'll make his grand entrance into the world...which got me thinking...

Would it be inappropriate to blare "2001" and erupt a fog machine on the hospital bed at the precise moment of my son's birth? Seriously, it would be his first Gamecock experience minus the bourbon...which, of course, I'll have on standby for Kristen. I have even pondered having the doctor dress up like Cocky and pop out of a cabinet during those final contractions...too much for a new father to ask?...

But back to the 4D ultrasound. As expected, my son did not want to share all his goods with us prior to his arrival. Being a celebrity (future President of the TJA), he's pretty guarded with glorious photos. The thirty minutes of us chasing down his beauty only produced fleeting glimpses. The sexy little cherub decided to ward us off with his arm, as if to say, "sorry, no autographs please." We realized quickly he had mistaken us for the paparazzi.

PS - Did you know little boys in the womb also like tucking a hand between their legs? If I didn't know better, I might think there was a small couch, six pack of PBR, and a NASCAR race happening in Kris' belly. Either way, stay comfortable in there little dude!

Until next time,

Blairy Labonte and His 3 Tight-Jeaned Elves

"He's really out there..."

What does it take to become a proud father? Some have told me it's a healthy baby. Some have told me it's a happy baby. I learned quickly just how wrong they could be. It's often the slightest phrase from a stranger that does it...

But I digress. So we're thirty-two weeks deep, and little mama is growing faster than Michael Phelps can find a lighter. However, I must admit she's the most adorable thing on the market (see previous post). Yes, she's been drugged for seven years to stick with me, but I've never once drawn a mustache on her face while she slept. In other words, we're as tight as Steve Perry wailing in Separate Ways...and that's tight.

When you first discover that your 2008 Family Beach Trip just helped grow the tree, only one thing crosses your mind: Are we having a Bubba or a Bubbette. For me, this broke the next 20 years into two distinct brackets:

1. Camping trips; smoking cigars; muddy trucks; the first cold beer during a ballgame; shooting guns, and a bachelor party where dad goes clubbing with the kids, shoots tequila until he stumbles, and hears too many of his son's previous misdemeanors...all while wearing a rocking sweater-vest (There's your shout-out pops!)

or...

2. Fending off hormoned-crazed suitors, like myself, until eventually paying for a wedding anyway.

For me, it was a no-brainer. As the twenty-week ultrasound approached, this dad-to-be was sweating out the moment worse than an elimination on Flavor of Love. Indeed, I was ready for the docs to get me as excited as the day Santa brought home the Power Glove...and yes, it's sooo baaad.

PS - Have you ever seen the ultrasound machine?...complete with keyboard, trackball, and TV screen. Tell me it's not some futurisic form of Golden Tee.

So the minute came, and the magic-wand slowly rolled across my wife's belly. Then, as the clock skidded, the skies parted, and all breath stopped, the tech spoke...

And that's the moment where dad brimmed with pride.

"Wow! He's really out there!"

Until next time,

Bret Michaels and the Rock of Baby Bus

"Oh wow, you're going to be a dad..."

Disclaimer (per my lovely wife): This website is not for Catholic priests and school boys...

Marriage Rule #1 - Your wife is always right.

Men's Rule #1 - Ignore her, you'll end up in the doghouse anyway.

And that's how this begins: Last month, I made the profound decision to begin a story. That's right, I volunteered all my poetic justice, heart and soul, and hours of paid office time into entertaining the world. The only comment my wife could make is that the title of my blog is about as bad as the end of Drumline...oh wait, I've never wanted rhythm and soul so bad in my life. So now you understand my disclaimer (Kristen, are we star-crossed soul mates again?). And you also see that I obediently serve Men's Rule #1 by sticking with the Fergalicious title.

You, me, Grandma Sue, Uncle Dabo, and the two mutts have all read the sappy baby-blogs that sound like an Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt video. No sir, you'll not find that here. My inspirational writing serves to give you the down-and-dirty of bringing the next big NASCAR sensation (a.k.a. "Price Miller") into the world.

Last Spring, my lovely counterpart (Kristen) and I ventured to Italy for our last hurrah. For when we came back, the T.B. Miller Band was going to play some live shows at the family-growing factory. After three wonderful years of marriage, it was time to retire my favorite tight jeans and prepare for baby screams. Little did I know that our creation was only a couple too many Firefly drinks, a full moon, and The Miller Family Beach Week 2008 away. Thanks mom and dad; we owe you!

As summer faded away, Gamecock football loomed on the horizon. Spirits were high that "Next Year" was here, and I was already practicing Sunday couch-mode. One particular afternoon, I recall a mighty half-stubbled beard watching a fourteenth consecutive episode of Man Vs Wild ("Blair" Grylls, if you may).

That day, Kristen crawled like a ninja around the house until sending me into the bathroom for a little "surprise." It was this little dandy that showed me the two pink lines that changed my life. Just to be sure, we replicated 4 sets of those duplicate lines (you can never be too sure). It was also at this point I realized my life had just changed for the most exciting and best reason I could've dreamed. Parenthood was a mere 8 months away!

Ironically, I'm still pondering Kris saying "oh wow, you're going to be a dad"...I guess we'll never know what that means.

Until next time,

Yours Truly and His Magnanamous Lady