Today I spent some time with some friends, their kids, and a kid-to-be. M., a newly-mom of three, who looks far better than anyone has a right weeks after a baby, hosted us. My friend, who, as I noted previously, shall forever be known as Towanda! brought her two little girls, and K. is at that final edge of pregnant.

The girls were excited to see one another, a pure flurry of chubby elbows and pretty flowered dresses, and when we sat at the table to eat our pizza, the grown-ups, they sat at their little table and ate theirs, too. Little L, the eldest among them, presided over the rest, managing them, alerting the adults when adults needed alerting.

She and Little P., Towanda!’s older daughter, put on a show.

As the five little girls — the next-youngest after the newborn is 11 months — swirled around each other and played and giggled and shone, what struck me is how the tiny bits of their parents arranged themselves, recombined, mingled with new parts to create these small people. Little H., the nearly-year old, has a glint in her eye just before she smiles that reminds me of her dad, a guy with a great sense of humor who wears it in the same glimmer. Her big sister has Towanda!’s eyelashes, but entirely her own expression in her eyes.

Little L. physically has characteristics from both of her parents, but the personality is brand-new. Her sister, Little PB, is a different remix, but again, when it comes to her spirit, she’s her.

The best part, though, is watching these bits and pieces of people I know and people I’m just getting to know interacting and getting to know one another, seeming to have as much fun as we do, only smaller.