Back in December of 2004, I was a brand new mother of two. Devin had been with us for almost 3 months, and Trevor was 1 day away from turning two. We'd gone to visit Daddy's parents for Christmas and were on our back to the Midwest when I called a hospital room in Arkansas to talk to my mom. Aunt Vikki was there, too, but she was in the middle of birthing her baby number 2, and to the best of my recollection, she had nothing to say to me.
I could be making this up, but I don't think I'm making this up. I was on the phone with mom or Aunt Sindy or someone who was in the room with Aunt Vikki when Jena arrived. I'm pretty sure I asked, "Was that Vikki?" when I heard the ear-splitting screech 7 states away. Of course, it wasn't. It was that tiny little Jena (pronounced Jenna, not Gina.)
It was this tiny little Jena:
More likely, it was this little Jena:
And, this one:
This one. Certainly this one:
This one, too:
No doubt, it was this little Jena, too.
She still screams the same way she did the moment she was born. All by herself, she's proven that when it comes to nature vs. nurture, it's nature all the way. I'm no longer on the fence when it comes to this argument, not at all.
If you see Jena, please give her a hug for me and let her know that I'm on my way to see her next month. Please prepare her because I want to be able to hug her at least 9 times whenever I want to, and I very much want her to hug me back, screech-free.