O: Mom, when is she going to be able to do stuff?
Somehow, over the past few weeks, that someday is upon us. Tiny P isn't so tiny anymore. She sings, tells jokes, and dances. She has a real thing for shoes, hers and everyone else's. She would eat a hand of bananas a day if you let her. She wants to walk everywhere, except when she doesn't, and then she wants to be carried like a monkey, snuggled high on my hip with an arm hooked around my neck. She exerts her will, loudly, with a noise canceling pitch that Jim and I both find remarkable. She runs after O everywhere she goes, flapping her arms and tweeting like a baby bird. Look out O, P can do stuff.