This afternoon, Shannon and Julia went up to a tea party at Cafe Latté, a St. Paul landmark, a birthday celebration for our friend Tricia. They had a high time, as you'd expect.
I stayed home with Genevieve, who was rather charming, if pretty tired thanks to having her afternoon nap ended prematurely by a poopy diaper (awake + stewing in your own feces = bad). We did a whole bunch of housey stuff, from vacuuming (me) and making some very silly faces (me) to drinking six ounces of milk in about five minutes (Genevieve; by my calculation, that's the equivalent of me drinking 48 ounces!) and spitting up about a half-doxen times. (Gigi again). More than once, though, she fell into a funk which I couldn't readily reverse: I just spend too little one-on-one time with her to know why she's mad or what will make her happy. Once, I picked her up to cuddle her, and she gouged my face trying to push me away. (Turns out, she wanted to chew on a measuring spoon.)
Still and all, this is more or less the face I saw most often: her little semicircular smile with those two teeth jutting out. I'll do better next time, Giger!
