“When is the baby going to come?”
It was a daily question from Fari. “In the spring,” Ivy replied.
Fari gave an impatient sigh. Ivy bit her lip, not wanting to laugh. She knew how much he was looking forward to being a brother. It was a long wait for an eight-year-old.
He slumped back into the corner of the couch. “When will he be old enough to play with me?”
“You’ll have to wait a few months,” Ivy said.
“Oh.” Fari sighed. “When will it be spring?”
Ivy smiled. “Four more months.”
Another sigh. “I wish he’d hurry up.”