The boy burrowed into our bed this morning, snuggled his back up against me, reached behind to pat my belly, and said, â€œThe babyâ€™s going to come this Friday.â€
(Remember, this is the spooky child who informed us that he was going to have a baby sister, and her name was going to be such-and-such, and two weeks later we were pregnant with the girl child heâ€™d ordered, after trying for two years.)
â€œWhat makes you say that?â€ I said.
â€œBecause Iâ€™m going to stay with Papa and Grandma on Friday.â€
â€œNo, Sparky, youâ€™re spending the day with Papa and Grandma because Mum and Dad are going to see the new Harry Potter movie that afternoon. The baby can come any time after four oâ€™clock on Friday.â€
(You hear that, baby? AFTER four oâ€™clock.)
He was quiet for a little while, then he said a bit sadly, “But I want her to be born. I love Owlet.”
We know you do, you wonderful boy. We know you love her so very much and you want to be able to see her, and cuddle her, and tell her you love her in person. We do, too. Just… not till after Friday afternoon.