The Inevitable Pasta-Sauce Face.

It was bound to happen.  We would inevitably serve A. some tortellini replete with marinara.  And she would eat the tortellini with her sweet, capable hands.  And then she would take her hands . . . 

And run them through her hair, play peek-a-boo with them on her face . . . and so on. Sigh. Time for bath number 3,878 of the day.  (Would you believe me if I told you that this messy gal is starting to feed herself with a spoon and can drink from an open cup on her own?  After this post, probably not.  And I understand your doubt.)