Sam’s a good sleeper for the most part. I put him facedown in his crib, and he does a few baby push-ups. It’s this very manly little ritual he has. He turns to look joyfully at me, like it’s great that we’ve simply moved the party from the living room to the bedroom, but then he understands that I am going to turn off the light and leave him, and this look of terror and total betrayal crosses his face. Total betrayal; basset hound death. His lips tremble, and he weeps for a moment in this pitiful little-guy way. Then he goes to sleep, just like that.
