The hanging on the collar of my shirt is enough to make me understand why my mother constantly said "Please don't hang on me." It was actually just about the last coherent thing she ever said to be, at age 29. I never felt like I was hanging on her, but I suppose I probably was.
She (the baby, not my mom's ghost) actually ripped the collar out of one of my tank tops today, but it was old and poorly made so it's only barely her fault. Still, it took a fair amount of yanking to accomplish.
Right now, she is pulling all the toys out of her toy bin. She seems to have arrived at the one she wanted, a rattling turtle she got from her grandma.
(And then I don't know what happened but now it's the next morning, so I'm just gonna hit go on this.)