It’s a little after 9 p.m. a full hour after Little G, age 2 3/4, should’ve fallen asleep.
I hear high-pitching singing from his crib. I tiptoe closer to the door to hear.
Little G has put his own stamp on “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”
Mary had a little train
Little train, little train
Mary had a little train
It was black and white
The train went to work to work
to work to work
to work to work
The train went to work to work
Train train train train train
My God, what’ve I done to him?