A couple of Sundays ago the Straka Family headed out to church. Two of us loved it. One of us didn't.
Not a big surprise who didn't enjoy our Sunday outing very much, I'm sure. It was Baby Sam's first time not being with Mama, Daddy, Gram or Pops and he had a hard time. It was difficult dropping him off - I had Brian take him back, knowing that there would be enough crying without throwing my disappearing act into the mix. We were given pagers that would vibrate if we needed to go back and get him, which thankfully never buzzed.
The minute the service was over, Brian and I looked at each other and said "He made it!". We hurried back to his room only to find him red-faced and sobbing. As he waddled over to me saying "Muh-mah, Muh-mah in his odd French-like accent, the nursery workers explained he cried for the first ten minutes, then calmed down, only to rev up again a few minutes before we came back. Those poor ladies.
He sure looked dapper before we left though, didn't he? I wish I'd taken a picture of him when we got home - shirt crumpled, hair sticking out all over, red cheeks, sweaty, exhausted. That would've been a great before-and-after. And his nursery teacher said the following few Sundays might be worse because he'll remember what happened that first week. I wouln't be surprised if we end up getting buzzed after all...