Ever wonder who provides the best stories in this family? Yeah, neither do I. It's always Gavin. He just can't help himself.
Today during sacrament meeting, Gavin wanted to sit on my lap, facing me, and have an hour-long conversation. He can be rather charming, so despite my desire for a 3-foot bubble of personal space around my being, I let him sit on my lap.
At one point he whispered in my ear, "How many people are in our family? Seven or eight?"
I said, "Seven."
He said, "Actually, I think there are eight."
Oh boy. I immediately wondered if this was one of those messages from God that can only be received through the mouth of a precious child.
"Oh?" I said. "Tell me about number eight."
"Well," said Gavin, "It's a boy."
Crap. I always thought our family would end on a boy.
(Sidebar: Remember how I nearly fell off the ultrasound table when we found out Kate was a girl? Maybe I didn't tell my blog friends about that because I was mad about not having good "mother's intuition." Anyway. Back to sacrament meeting.)
"Really? Does the boy have a name?"
Because the boy in my head has a name.
Gavin immediately said "Yes!"
"Well, what is it?"
"His name is RAMBO RICK!"
It's pretty amazing that the stake president didn't hear me snort from the middle of the eighth row. It's nice to know I don't have to rely on my four-year-old for inspiration.