Cheers

At various points, all parents must wonder how their offspring are going to grow up. A baby is, after all, just a stranger that gets plopped into your life. Most of us hope that once we do get to know the kid, we'll find that we have enough in common with them to make co-habitating for the next 18 (or, in today's recession-era climate, 25) years bearable at worst, enjoyable at best.

We can roll the dice on genetics or, barring that, keep our fingers crossed that nurture does trump (or at least even the playing field with) nature. But in truth, all you can do is hope and wait.

Occasionally though, one gets an advanced preview of what may be waiting down the road. Today we got ours. I was standing in the kitchen holding a glass of (ok, I admit it) bourbon in one hand and Otter in the other. Fascinated, she kept reaching out, running her fingers over the cold glass while trying to appropriate it for herself. At that point I got distracted by a conversation I was having with Bree and briefly stopped paying attention. The girl used the opportunity to pounce. I felt an unusual pressure on my glass hand, and turning to her, saw Otter's mouth firmly planted on the side of the tumbler, seeking out the contents. Yes, Otter wanted to get herself some of my Manhattan.

Welcome to the family, my dear.