Three years ago, The Kid was begging me for a baby brother. Begging. And, despite the fact that The Man was married to someone else at the time, The Kid had nominated him for the role of daddy.
Four months ago, with The Kid still adjusting to the recent addition of The Man to our household, he was less than thrilled at the announcement that a baby was, in fact, on the way. He wasn't dead set against the idea, but he was not at all enthusiastic. And the idea that it might be a girl nearly made him cringe.
His outlook improved with time. As my belly began to grow he moved from poking at it uncertainly to patting it affectionately. He has since started standing in the future nursery with me, surveying the space and making suggestions. He has even begun pointedly calling the baby "him or her."
But there's no doubt he's still been diligently wishing nightly for a boy. And I, with no personal preference for a boy or a girl, have quietly been hoping I would have the chance to grant that wish.
And this morning when he walked in the front door still groggy from an overnight stay with his dad, I did just that.
We are having a boy! And The Man is daddy, just as The Kid insisted those many years ago. It's going to be tricky growing up with a prophet for an older brother.