A baby duck

One thing I love about having a secret online journal is getting to catalogue monumental events happening in our lives. I’m a historian at heart.
This is one of those significant documentation moments: We are having another baby!
Our little bundle of love makes his/her debut this coming Fall and we couldn’t be more ecstatic/honored/joyful/nervous/excited. (I’m pregnant, my emotions are all over the place.)
We told Miles that there was a baby in Mommy’s tummy and his response could not have been more precious. “Baby in Mommy’s tummy?! Awww!” He has been ooohing and ahhhhing over my tummy, patting and kissing it. He sometimes mistakes my chest for my tummy and I have to redirect to where the baby is located.
We asked him is he wanted a baby brother or baby sister and, without hesitation, he said, “a baby duck.”
He hasn’t wavered from his preference, either. Every time we ask: a baby duck.
I think it may have something to do with a trip we took a few weeks ago to a local farm. Miles got to play with a baby duck and he was in heaven.

They shared a connection.

They had a moment.

And in that moment my son thought to himself, “I hope that one day my mommy grows a baby duck in her tummy.” It’s a quite common thing for two years olds to wish their mothers grew poultry inside them, I promise. (Is a duck poultry? Fowl? I don’t know, I only pretend to be a farm girl.)
A friend of mine suggested we get a little duck onsie for the baby and I think that idea is adorbs. Miles might feel cheated though. He’s seen the real thing and that ain’t no real baby duck.

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