I used to think four was the most fun age for little kids.  Then Brady turned five.

Brady is C’s mom’s husband’s grandchild.  Wrap your head around it.

Brady lives in the same neighborhood as C’s mom and spends a good amount of time at C’s mom’s house.  He’s an absolute joy.  In fact, I’ve only seen him in a questionable mood one time, and that was at the art museum the day after Christmas.  I think he was just plain exhausted from the day before.  Generally, he’s got a lot to say and is very inquisitive.

Yesterday during the game (we won’t go there) Brady and I had some good chats.  He’s very interested in the baby and what’s going on in my belly.  So we had a talk and I let him ask me whatever he wanted about babies.

“Can you fit through a door?”  Yes.  ”But do you have to turn sideways?”  No.

“Do people know you’re going to have a baby?”  Yes.  ”Do they know this because your belly is fat?”  Yes.

“Can the baby see me?”  No, but he can hear you and he’ll recognize your voice when he arrives.  ”He can hear me?”  Yes.  ”So he’ll know who I am when he comes out?”  Yes!

“So your baby is just going to slide right out?”  That’s the plan!

“Will the baby be lumpy after he slides out?”  Quite possibly.

“Will he be covered in water and blood?”  Yes.

Brady, what should we name a boy?  We don’t have any boy names.  ”Golf Cart.”