Sorry Baby K

Sorry for not posting lately, Baby K. Photoshop and the computer have been fighting a lot recently. It’s hard to edit photos when I get nothing but pop-up windows saying things like “Fatal Error number &*^*&” and “unresponsive program.” Also, I’ve been suffering from a case of the winter blahs and haven’t felt very inspired, which I can’t blame on the computer.

But when I snapped this photo of you at the Super Bowl party, everyone turned around and said to me in unison, “You’re going to do that web thing aren’t you?” It would have been wrong not to post this photo of you, so I fought with my computer for 2 hours until I was able to squeeze out this one photo.

With all that said, I have to admit that you’re my favorite new little human, and let me explain my reasons.

For the seven months leading up to your arrival, we were able to torture your Daddy with an endless volley of daily “Baby’s Momma” jokes. No intended disrespect towards your Mommy, your Mommy is very cool, but what kind of friends would we be to your Daddy if we didn’t abuse him in said such manner.

During the latter half of your second trimester, your Daddy went on an extended panic stricken bender; and as your Daddy is always generous with the tab after a few too many whiskeys, we were all the unwitting benefactors of your Daddy’s generosity. Granted, that money would have been better spent on a college fund for you, but we’ll make it up to you my mailing you your favorite cigars to whatever third-rate State school your parents are forced to send you.

Your impending arrival forced your Daddy to sell the old beat up pickup truck with the bad shocks and replace it with a brand new station wagon (good for Daddy, by the way. SUV’s are the work of the devil) with heated leather seats. It’s a far more comfortable ride for us all.

Upon your arrival, your Daddy instantly became a respectable member of society, and consequently lost his tolerance. Now, on those very rare occasions he is able to come out and play, he becomes a hilarious goofball after two or three beers, much to our amusement.

Since your Mommy and Daddy are far too intelligent to entrust any of us with your well being, none of us have to baby-sit, which means we only have to deal with your cute adorable side, which leaves your nasty stinky bits to the more responsible friends and family.

Keep rockin’, Baby K.