bet your britches

my kinda 40, or 12

Now, I don't have a lot of vices, at least as far as you know. I could be drinking a 40 right now with a guy in a tux stuffed in the back of my minivan, and you'd have no idea, unless you asked Toby. I'm not. In fact, I have had very few drinks in my life, and I'm good with that. My secret sins all primarily have to do with watching questionable musical television, but that's between me and the Lord and Toby.

All that to say, I was enticed into a wager last night by my mother-in-law. Now, Viking Granny, as you know her, has like 143 grandchildren and is therefore an expert on most things child-related. In the unfolding story of the new baby, she feels cocky and confident that he will arrive at or after November 19th, and will have the exact birthweight of 7 lbs 3 oz. Later, she waffled and changed her bet to November 17th or later, and 7.3 or MORE. Did she get scared? Maybe so. Who knows what makes people waffle... could be weakness, or fear... or something else.

So, dinner at Rancho Grande is going to happen. The question is, who will pay? Will it be me, with my baby born prior to 11/16, weighing less than 7.3? Or will it be the increasingly less confident Viking Granny, with a grandbaby born after 11/17 and weighing in at 7.3 or more? I'll give you this much insider info, he was 6.12 at his ultrasound Tuesday. Shoot! Now I'm waffling. Or AM I?

And what should he be NAMED? Throw in your vote in the comments!