Another baby class, and some news for you, little one. We're so close to this amazing transition that the tiny details are getting sharper in focus. The bag is taking shape. We're buying little necessaries for your mom, strange things I didn't even know existed, nursing accessories and strange little gizmos to do this and that.

Plus we're preparing an adorable little garment for your opening day, your debut. The showpiece is really this little hat someone made us. The hospital gives you a hat to wear in the nursery, when you're arrayed with your fellow newcomers, all frowning with scrunched up eyes and little red faces. But you will have a special hat, with your name emblazoned across the top. Yes! You will be the master of the little army of nearly-blind brand new babies, because your hat will identify you.

I am truly insane.

But this is what it's all about, in a lot of ways. Think crazy now, because reality is around the corner with a club and a can of mace.

Here's a little fantasy I had tonight during baby class. (I daydream because sometimes I feel like the nurses teach to the lowest common denominator, repeating information endlessly.)

Anyhow, it's so simple, it's almost absurd. We load up the car, your mom and I. You're having some milk or something delicious. You're still wee and tiny, I'd say maybe 4-5 months. It's cool and beautiful outside. This city's best season is fall, and it would be safe to say by the angle of the sunlight and the delicious aroma of burning leaves in this daydream that it is the perfect, meaty part of fall, right before Halloween.

We're loading up the car for a trip to a park. We've packed a little bag with clothes and food and diapers and wipes and toys and everything else you need (the bag weighs 80 pounds), and we've made a little bag for water and treats for Dixie. It's nice and early, and the big red car we bought in anticipation of your arrival is taking the load with an eager eye on the road ahead.

We click you into your seat and hit the open ribbon of asphalt. Maybe we just go to G__________ or something similarly pretty and nearby, but the daydream doesn't exactly say. I turn to gaze at you, sleeping silently in your little seat, and the next thing I knew we're there. I'm walking along with K_________ and Dixie and you're clipped into the little Baby Bjorn, breathing in the beauty and the splendor and smiling a little baby smile before anything makes a whit of sense. Maybe you're just thinking about food.

We'll try to make that daydream come true, little one. Come soon.