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My Case that my Daughter is a Caveman

As I've spent the last few weeks chasing my speedster-crawling daughter around the house, I've come to realize that she might very well be a caveman.
Witness:
She communicates with guttural sounds and fist-banging gestures (sometimes using wooden spoons and toys for emphasis). Imagine, if you will, this conversation:
"Hey, Willow."
"Heh."
"Did you have a nice nap?"
"Heh." A scowl starts to creep across her face.
"What's wrong, baby girl?"
"Heh!" Then she starts banging, loudly, on the crib railing. "Heh! Heh!"
She likes to gnaw on everything. Anything. I imagine cavemen were like today's adolescent sharks; they had to bite on everything to figure out if it was food. Take the above conversation example. Willow might very well follow a "heh!" with squeak-squeak-squeak gnawing on the crib railing.
Willow stares dumbfounded at light sources. When Willow and I enter a room and I flip on the lights, Willow grunts then stares at the light then continues to grunt and stare. "Heh!"
She loves, loves, loves bananas (wait, that's for my "My Case that my Daughter is a Monkey" post. Sorry).
When Willow sees other people, she grunts and stares at them. Try as they may, the strangers can't coax anything intelligible from Willow, just "heh" grunts.
Willow likes to pull up on furniture then bang on the furniture while screaming out some sort of monologue. This is Hitler-like, but I don't want to compare my daughter to Hitler, so instead I'll compare her to a caveman you might see in a Mel Brooks movie, banging away and grunting while delivering his speech to the other cavemen.
She likes to eat with her hands, spreading the food all over her face, sleeves, hair, tray and floor. Soon, I'm sure she'll start splatting the foot on the walls. But not yet. (Again, this might be best saved for "My Case that my Daughter is a Monkey."
Willow is in awe of all the technological advances around her. Everything catches her eye. The dishwasher, the washer, the refrigerator, the remotes, the TV, computers, phones. Everything. She stares at them and pokes at them endlessly, never tiring of them. I'm sure that that is a caveman trait.
Anyway, there it is, my case that my daughter is a caveman. Oh, well, I still love her.
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