Late Saturday afternoon we decided to get out of the house for a bit. We ventured down to the river, by Edworthy Park. The boys whiled away
a considerable amount of time throwing rocks into the river; the Hen occasionally interrupting his ‘work’ to look up, point his finger and say ‘bo’. Boat.
Yes, he loves pointing out boats. On land or on water. ‘Mommy….bo’ he tells me. And, on a sunny Saturday afternoon there are a considerable number of boats (rafts, really) floating down the river. It looks like a lot of fun but probably not the sort of thing you do with a 2 year old and a 5 year old. Maybe next summer…I keep saying, about everything.
As usual, Mr. G remembered there was an ice cream shop nearby and so we were ‘forced’ to stop and pick up a few ice cream cones.
‘You must be due any day now,’ the female proprietor remarked. ‘Oh, in the next couple of weeks or so,’ I replied. ‘You’ve dropped nicely,’ she complimented (?) me. Even though I’m pretty sure I’m not the one doing any dropping.
As Jason paid, I followed the boys outside with their pink ice cream cones. I heard her talking to him, still. ‘Is she excited to have another boy?’ (She’d already wrangled that piece of information from us.) ‘Do you think you’ll go for a fourth…try for a girl?’
Obviously it’s not the first time someone’s asked us THAT question. Strangely I don’t mind it nearly as much as when people say, upon learning we’re going to have a third boy, ‘oh, you’re going to have your hands full.’
It’s a nicer way of basically saying: your life is going to suck. And while I’m not really a fan of flowery sentiment, I think it’s sort of pointless to tell someone in a particular situation that the situation must or will be unpleasant, somehow.
But one of the female employees at IKEA had an even better take on my ‘situation’.
I was picking my oldest up from the IKEA supervised play area the previous Saturday. ‘Oh, you have two boys,’ she said ‘and you have another baby on the way.’ ‘Yep,’ I replied before she could ask, ‘and it’s another boy.’
‘Three boys,’ she reiterated ‘you’re going to have your hands full’. To which I gave my standard chuckle and ‘yep’ reply. But then she did one better.
‘I was supposed to be a boy, if that makes you feel any better.’
I couldn’t really think of a circumstance in which that would make me feel better. After all, I’ve seen male parts on the ultrasound. So, if this one is a girl…well, that doesn’t sound good at all.
Plus, three boys will just give me more insanity to document.