...the evidence is mounting.
There's going to be a baby in the house.
And it's going to be a "teeny teeny tiny whiny" baby (according to Max, who is, by this new comparison...a Giant)...
And, I know I'm no expert on all things girly....but....
That's more pink than this house has ever seen.
And, after much talking, reassuring, bribing, and careful word selection...
There has been some Carseat Rearranging.
Evan was not excited about his move to the Way Back. (Neither am I, to be honest. This just means that I'll have to climb over seats or through the back door to adjust his shirt/pants/coat/straps forty-two times every time we drive somewhere.) We talked about it for weeks leading up to the big move. Ultimately, Sam let him in on a little secret. "You know, Evan," he said, "Your seat in the way back is sort of like your own Star Command." This went over really well with Evan, aka: Buzz Lightyear.
"You can see straight out the front windshield AND the map screen. You're the navigator, buddy."
Evan's face lit up and his eyes got wide.
"You know what, Mom," he said as we got in the van this morning, "I was just kidding about not wanting to move to the back."
"That's great, bud!" I said.
"... ... ... Um... But what if I wasn't really kidding?"
It may take some time. But he'll be fine. And Max, true to form, was thrilled to bits to move his seat over to the (according to him:) Big Brother Section.
That leaves one seat open and ready for a baby bucket.
We're ALL ready when you are, baby girl. But don't rush. It'd be awesome if we could sell this house first.