Or Else

The boy burrowed into our bed this morning, snuggled his back up against me, reached behind to pat my belly, and said, “The baby’s going to come this Friday.”

WHAT.

(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 he’d ordered, after trying for two years.)

“What makes you say that?” I said.

“Because I’m going to stay with Papa and Grandma on Friday.”

Oh.

“No, Sparky, you’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 o’clock on Friday.”

(You hear that, baby? AFTER four o’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.

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