Breckon, 5, monitored my food consumption in Sacramento, ensuring the baby in my tummy got cheesecake, ice cream, and brownies. It was serious, scolding business: "The baby needs treats!"
Other weekend highlights:
Driving straight to Breckon's baseball practice when we got to Cali and having him defect from drills to run and jump into my arms. Best feeling ever.
Watching Madison's spring-break morning routine every morning, wherein she plays T Swift's Red album start to finish in her boombox while doing freeform gymnastic dance in the living room.
Seeing Breckon experience Star Wars for the first time. Episode IV. For his birthday. With dad. He was in pure bliss. It brought a flood of Star Wars, Rambo, and Rocky memories back from my childhood. People wonder why I've never seen Poppins or Sound of Music. The answer: three brothers. Subsequently, Breckon and I have named my unborn child Baby Bobafet.
Hearing Breckon read at
a 12th-grade reading level. And starting each morning off with him reading the Star Wars dictionary to me in bed.
Brynn. That hair. That belly. And her asking Jen, out of the blue, "Mom, when am I going to have a baby in my belly?"
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