Finally, my parents arrived and we were able to hand over Max to rest of tendinitis-y wrists. Max will sit on the shoulder of just about anyone as long as he has a burp cloth to chew on. He just likes to be handled and have all his needs met, like a tiny rock star. Consider:

• he yowls when he needs drink, then nods of at the bar, if you will
• he sleeps most of the day and likes to party all night
• he can often be found in a pool of his own vomit

We are finding that life with the tiny rock star is pretty fun, all things considered. Smiling in response to things we do is a pretty big deal for us, since we now think that maybe he has a hunch that we are other people (or other baboons, or whatever he thinks he is - he did have a nightmare, I assume about falling out of a tree, last week and raised up a tiny hand with very sharp nails and grabbed a hunk of my skin with a strength that I am sure would have kept him in that tree) and not just the tall robots that feed and change him. This is very exciting.