Prospect

Sometime last year, when Cal was nothing more than a thought and a wish, I was reading stories online about the creative ways women told their husbands that they were expecting.  I got sucked into the madness and soon found myself the owner of a onesie, with no baby to wear it.  It was simple:  white, short-sleeved, with the word PROSPECT written across the chest in gothic-ish type. A nod to Sons of Anarchy, our favorite show to watch together.  I hid it as soon as it came, and, when we did concieve, found myself too excited for an elaborate reveal (shaking him until he woke up was sufficient).  The shirt was thrown into the rapidly growing pile of baby stuff and eventually made its way into the closet, where it sat until it fit my sweet baby boy on the day of the season premiere.  Look how far we have come.