Eleanor is still croupy. It's rough. She's on the mend, but yesterday when she woke up from her nap she couldn't breathe again, and it was terrifying. We hate this. Plus the steroids made her DIFFICULT and it was a few days before she stopped being aggressive and abrasive and annoying. She took a SWING at me. With her FIST. What the actual.
Let's talk about Geneva instead for a bit. G-Wren turned seven months old. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN DID I NOT JUST HAVE HER? Anyway. She's the happiest pterodactyl. She's recently discovered pitch and there's a lot of conversational screaming going on around here.
When I wake up in the morning, it's not because I hear her crying, it's because I hear, HO! WerrrrrrrrrrRRRR. HARRRRerrrrrrrgerrrrgerrrrrr. Ahpbbbbbbbbbbbbt.
She's just such a fat, happy dumpling. She loves Eleanor more than life itself. She cannot roll over and she does not care to learn. And no one has ever been more smug about their spoon.