Last night, I waited in Luca’s bed while he conducted some mommy business. He came back in and excitedly jumped into bed.
“Dad. I have something important to ask you. Mom said it was up to you.”
I got ready to approve a trip to the toy store or a Sunday movie or putting the final nail in the no screens during the week rule coffin.
“Can I have a baby sister?”
I asked him to repeat himself. Then I asked him again. You really want a sister? Where in the heck did this come from?
“I think it would be so cute. I promise I’ll feed her and change her diapers and play with her all the time.”
Rather than get into the mathematics or physics of having a baby at 43 years old, I tried to play to his selfishness.
“You know, our house isn’t big enough for another baby. You’ll have to share a room with Eli. We’ll also have to probably throw out half of your toys. Probaby all of your toys.”
Didn’t care. He was totally up for it. He was also ok with waking up in the middle of the night and most likely being her fulltime caregiver in 4 to 6 years. I punted to Diana. With the most dad statement in the history of dad statements.
“Go ask your mother.”
He came back a few seconds later.
“She said we could acopt one. We should name her Phoebe.” Diana was officially messing with me.
I tried to explain to him with our busy schedules, we couldn’t ACOPT a baby. Plus, I would not name my daughter after the least attractive “Friends” actress. I offered to buy him a female dog (sorry Grover) or a female hamster. Or a female Transformer.
“No. Dogs and hamsters die too fast. I want to acopt a baby.”
I offered to sign us up to volunteer at a hospital or a orphanage or even convince my friend John to dress his baby son up as a girl and let us watch him/her for a weekend.
Nope. He wanted to acopt a baby girl and that was it. I rolled the dice and said, “Okay. If that’s what you want, tell mom I’m fine with it.”
A few seconds later Luca came back crying. Diana told him it wasn’t going to happen.
I looked like a real hero.