My next great-niece/nephew shall arrive on the 24th of July. Maybe the 26th. Possibly the 30th. This one seems as determined as the last one to keep us guessing and me fretting.
I have maintained, since my niece called to tell me she was expecting, that this one was going to be a girl. I have told her it would be a girl or it was going back where it came from because it clearly wasn’t done cooking. I have maintained that if she only concentrated hard enough, this one would be a girl.
(I suppose this insistence may be why she wanted to have the baby before I was with her? Maybe?)
At any rate. I have accepted, my gut tells me that this is going to be a little boy. I have told myself that little boys are fun and you can buy them slingshots and it will be ok. I have knit mostly boy coloured things. I like the current great-nephew and think he’s pretty spectacular, so really, why wouldn’t another boy be spectacular.
None of this explains what happened last night, just before I went to bed, when I found myself picking up pink wool. To knit a little cotton dress. Not a big thing, just a little slip of a thing for a hot summer day, to fit right away. Really, how long can it take to knit a little dress for a maybe 6 pound baby? It’s not going to be hard. I have a 5 hour conference call tomorrow, and I can certainly whip it off during that.
Yeah, that’s it.
Or something. Because I’m sensible like this.