I was hoping with every fiber of my being that I could just stay at home with the little Kembot, but it just didn't work out that way.
I have, however, survived my first week back.
I guess it is a good thing that I don't completely despise my job.
And I suppose it is good that Tyrel gets to spend a little more time with her, even though it is only one day extra per week.
My little girl always needs more daddy time.
I am slightly concerned, however, that he is creating a cute little monster.
Here she is, just chilling in our living room.
Watching the Travel Channel.
Like it is no big deal.
I can't keep her eyes off of that darn TV.
Ever.
She just rolls over or scoots around until she can see it.
Right now, as a matter of fact, she is wrapped up in the Celtics/Heat game.
And cooing.
Actually, she is pretty much cheering them on.
Tyrel.
What are you doing to our daughter?
Oh well. I guess this means I can enroll our boys in ballet.
Oooooh, March Madness. You have possessed my husband once again.
Two days down, an eternity to go.
I guess if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?
I lie. I actually tend to enjoy the whole shabang.
Probably because my husband lives for these next few weekends.
Seriously. He might die if anything happens to March Madness.
And I am too young to be a widow.
Even though I kind-of am...just for a month.
At least his second, third, and fourth wives {ie the tv, espn, and cougarfan, respectively} take pretty good care of him while he is dead to the outside world.
Tyrel requested this whole weekend off from work so he could sit and soak-in all the college basketbally-goodness that comes this time of year.
This may or may not have included pizza, 18 wings, screaming {and near crying}, and the attempted "ultimate" viewing set up {ie the nursery tv being brought into the living room for more viewing pleasure...as if a 50-inch plasma with a split-screen of the games and a computer displaying its love-affair with espn isn't enough}.
But the set-up didn't work.
So we just have to suffer through the 50-inch and computer screen.
Tough life.
We filled out our brackets earlier this week {Tyrel, of course, hoping for upsets; Vandy, of course, just picking teams and asking, "Is that a stupid choice?"; Kemry, of course, having her bracket filled out by which mascot was the cutest...since she is so darn cute herself! }
Kemry didn't last long during the events of the past two days. I guess when you are only 2 months old you get special right in being a party pooper.
I tried my hardest to stay interested too but decided that I needed to will spring to come a little faster. Probably because Tyrel had all the blinds shut and the feel of our apartment turned into that of a bachelor pad.
With a wife who makes you pizza.
And a cute baby.
Both included.
When I realized that all of my hoping and fake-flowers won't make the temperature rise about 40 degrees and cancel the forecast of rain/SNOW showers for this week, I turned to people watching.
Well, person watching.
He is pretty entertaining :)
I am always relieved when I see a smile on his face {because he gets reeeeeaaaallllly mad at times. He likes to say lots of made up Spanish/Dominican words that are not intended to be very nice...and throw game controllers...and slap the couch...}
Oh those smiles are nice!
This one is courtesy of Brandon, on the other line.
Thank you Brandon.
I will get you a grand Christmas present the next time I draw your name.
Promise.
In our little family's bracket circle, Kemry is pretty much done for.
Poor girl.
She just didn't come to this earth with good bracket-picking skills.
The sad thing is that she picked Vanderbilt to win {Vanderbilt's nickname=Vandy...who will win this year's tournament? Vandy {as in sweet momma Vandy...but really Vanderbilt Vandy}, of course}.
And I {being Vanderbilt} totally blew it.
Sigh.
BUT...I {sweet momma Vandy} am currently taking Tyrel down.
Totally winning.
Just sayin'.
In the big family bracket-off, post Round 2 action, I'm hanging in the middle.
Sweet daddy, however, is a little bit lower...
The moral of this story...
When you say naughty Spanish words {even if they don't really exist}, you pay for it with your bracket.
Along with a few ridiculous photos, let me explain.
The hubs is in love with the Boston Celtics.
And today they traded out Kendrick Perkins {aka Grumps McGee}...
I'll bite your face off.
...Nate Robinson {aka Shorty Eagle Throat}...
I don't even know what to say about this one...
...Marquis Daniels {aka My Fair Braidy}...
Mah hair! Mah hair!
...Semih Erden (aka Turkey-Lurkey)...
English? Le sigh. I have no idea what these people are saying...
...and Luke Harangody {aka Hairy-Goaty. Original, eh?}
Phoooootoshop...
I know that I am the last person who should be allowed to make fun of sports since I am the least athletic human ever created, but if I am forced {okay...maybe not really forced...but if I want quality time with the hubs...}to watch hours and hours of bouncing leather torture, I have to find some fun in it somehow...
So, while this is all so heartbreaking for Tyrel, who am I supposed to entertain myself with? Totally more heartbreaking for me.
No more giggling at how funny Perkins looks when he runs...
Or making gagging noises at Nate's nasty tattoos when they zoom in on him for free-throws.
In other news, it has been Grumpy Baby Week in the Murri household.
The reason?
Gas.
Oh, the gas! Poor gassy baby.
Poor frustrated parents.
If she isn't eating or sleeping, she is screaming.
Luckily, thanks to lots of Mylicon drops and some shiatsu massages {compliments of } Tyrel {and if the massages didn't work, it was just adorable watching him try it out}, I think we are on the downhill.
At least she sleeps well {for the most part} once we have soothed her.
I will have to remember to apologize when she is older for all of the names we have called her this week, mainly Turd-Face, Poop, and Pain-in-the-Butt. I have a feeling, however, that this will not be the only moment we use them during her lifetime.
At least the gas has produced a belcher that a daddy can be proud of. Right, Tyrel?
Gassy babies burp.
Burping brings spit-up.
Spit-up ends up on Mommy.
No one tells you that you turn naaaaasty when you become a mom.
You get to say a short, unexpected goodbye to personal hygiene and a loooong hello to seemingly permanent ickiness.
Maybe it's just me, though...cause I see lots of cute moms with little newborns. My head spins trying to figure out how they do it.
On a good day, I get a shower.
On a great day, one coat of mascara makes it onto my eyelashes {which usually ends up being worn through the next day...and next day...}.
On an excellent day, I get to put real clothing on, not just my spit-up on pjs from the night before. And the night before that.
On an unheard of day {one day I will see you!!!!}, I will get to do my hair. Seriously.
The baby even looks at my hair and makes gross faces. I'm not kidding.
Nasty.
I am truly lucky to have a sweet husband that constantly tells me that I am still the most beautiful girl in the world, despite my rat-top, dry skin, and flabby post-pregnancy body {helloooo wide hips, jiggly thighs, deflated tire-tummy, and ba-dooooonk-a-donk in the back...}.
The thing that amazes me is that it is all worth it. Somehow. You just don't even care :)
Thanks, Little Gassy One.
I adore you.