Yesterday we went to my sister-in-law's house for Memorial Day dinner, and my nephew Jack (who is 3 today) was running around in circles enjoying his last day being 2.
He celebrated that by refusing to wear pants. I don't know, that kinda makes sense to me.
Immediately, Matt and I were bombarded with questions about what we were going to call the baby. Becca had three baby name books to lend us, while Peter kept suggesting the most awful names. Names like Atticus, which you can only pull off if you are a fictional character. Or Gregory Peck.
Or, "You should call it Peter. Peter is a great name."
Jack wondered about all this baby talk. "Who's baby?" he asked.
Becca said, "Mindy's baby. Do you want it to be a girl or boy baby?"
Jack smiled slyly. "Boy baby." Of course. Then he looked at me with puzzlement. "Where's the baby?"
"I don't have it yet," I told him.
He seemed confused. "Where is it?"
"I'll get it later."
I said the first thing that came into my head. The place I get just about everything.
"Target. I'm hoping they'll have one on clearance."
That made perfect sense to Jack. He nodded and smiled.