Every Stinkin' Morning

Every morning I'm awakened from my precious beauty sleep by a cry.  A cry of one little girl.  She doesn't wake up happy.  She doesn't wrestle with her blankets and laugh.  She doesn't sing. She doesn't talk.  She cries.  And cries.  And cries until someone gets her.  She's a demanding little fart.

After I pull my sorry booty from my warm bed and stumble down the halls to get her, I always find her hair in this state...

Seriously, what kind of acrobats must one do in order to produce hair such as this?  I'm tempted to install a camera in her room to see what exactly goes on in there.  I'm fully convinced that there is sabotage involved either by her brother or my husband.  I'll catch the culprit.  One of these days, I'll catch 'em.  Catch 'em and them make them brush this out.  It's a job I tell you.  A full time, no benefits, no pay job.

Anyway, that's not the point.  My point today, however ridiculous it may be, is this...

Every morning after I save the little fart from her crib wailing, her father makes comments about her resembling a Monchichi.  A Mon-chee-chi what?  I had no idea what he was talking about.  He makes weird comments all the time and I generally ignore them, but today I googled it.  And this is what I got...

Yep, definitely a Monchichi.  Hello.  My name is Amanda, and I have a Monchichi for a daughter.