I made it until 1:30 and then I drove the getaway car to the local
I sort of wish I hadn’t bothered! When I get there he is as happy as Larry sitting in a swing being swooned over by a couple of chicks (in fact, they were literally drooling over him—nice). All four of the ladies in the room went on and on about what a good baby he was and how Tom was the perfect name for him. He’d played, slept, and ate without any bother and was a “great-natured little boy”.
Then I pick him up. And he starts to wail—a wail I’ve never heard before. A wail that pretty much says “put me bloody down, I like it here”. In some ways, that makes dropping him off tomorrow so much easier. I’ll just have to drown my sorrows in a box of wine from Target until I get over the fact that he’d rather hang with the Methodists than me.
30 minutes later: he’s a fickle little bugger. Now he won’t stop laughing. Unfortunately, he shakes his head when he laughs so this is the best I can do photowise: