Philly

I am visiting Big Huge Elderly Aged Molly in Philadelphia right now, ostensibly to help her with her newborn little boy. Sadly, Big Huge Molly is in little need of my assistance, since she is neither Big nor Huge (having lost all of her pregnancy weight already and wearing jeans and rather fitted tops, all the better for my sharp knives not to get lost in the folds as I stab her repeatedly), nor particularly sleep-deprived, since Jude only wakes once during the night. My child, however, wakes regularly.
The plane ride out here was blessedly uneventful. Molly remained her uncommonly cheerful self and clawed my face off climbing up for a better view of bearded businessmen behind us. She gave them huge moist crooked smiles and laughed uproariously when they smiled back. She laughs so often and at such strange times that I sometimes wonder if there is a brain disorder entitled Syndrome of Inappropriate Laughter, subtype Frequent Giggler. Whenever I point out and name an object, she chuckles heartily. "Plant"- giggle. "Kitty"- loud guffaw. Also, whenever I read a book to her, after pausing to finish a phrase, she smiles and gives a chuckle. The ONLY time she is not grinning widely is when she is twisting and fighting like a mackerel on a line in her crib. She can ratchet up the screaming until there is snot, copious tears, small facial scratches, etc., but once you lift her out of the crib, she turns, touches your cheek and gives you a big pumpkin-faced grin.
She is fascinated with little Jude and wants to give him hard pats and try to remove his eyeballs for her closer inspection. It is testament to our fallen nature that whenever confronted by a creature smaller than we are, we are tempted to abuse it in some manner. I found this to be true when I was in so much pain after my kidney surgeries that I rode in a wheelchair in Sam's Club and my sister, who was pushing me, had to fight the bodily urge to ram me into things and strike me in my diminished state. Baby Molly tries to heave her large body onto Jude's diminutive one. And Sylvie routinely snatches toys from Molly's grasp. She also does some shoving and kicking and oppressive hugging. Molly takes it in stride, though, wriggling from Sylvie's grasp, crawling briskly away, and then turning to give her tormenter a large beatific smile.