Hi Wrenny Girl,
You are 5 months old.
This whole thing is flying by, and it’s making me weepy. Sorry. I swear I will stop crying one day…
You’re rolling over and trying desperately to crawl. You actually get around pretty well despite not having any ‘forward gears,’ as your dad has pointed out. We have got to say that your homeschool grade for Grit is probably going to be an ‘A.’
(Just kidding. We don’t believe in grades.)
The other day we were driving to Panera, and I heard Otis sing from the backseat, “I got your giraffe, Wrenny! I got your giraffe!”
And then I heard you, Wren Faith of the House of Oates, Mother of Dragons Stuffed Giraffe.
You started crying. It wasn’t the hungry cry. Or the tired cry. It was the “Fool, you best give me back my things before I hit you up side your head” cry.
And I was in the front seat like:
Because seriously, dude. Who steals toys from babies?!?!
Anyways, you’re 5 months old and I’m beyond proud of the baby-sized woman you are.
Love you forever, Little One!
Mama
