Wrenling

Let's talk about Geneva Wren for a bit. I feel like she falls under the radar because she's not running around saying things like, I have a kiss for my dear old goose dad! (What in the world, Eleanor.) But Geneva is doing things. Like teething. You can't do up any zippers or snaps near that child's neck without her grabbing at your hand and trying to bite you.

She's forever pulling her soother out of her mouth and waving it around, like a tiny drunk. Like it's the pipe she's punctuating her sentences with.

I've started calling her 'Hambone' and I don't think I can stop. She's so plump. She's a dumpling. A dumplestiltskin.

She can't talk without something in her mouth, but when there's something in her mouth, she can't shut up.

Still with the spitties. It never gets old. And she does it, and then waits for you to do it back. It's like a CONVERSATION.

She's at that perfect age where you can be like, Uhhhhhh, here's the strap that tightens your car seat, I guess? And she's like, Astounding. *bite bite bite*