He doesn't know how pregnant his Mom is in numbers, but he knows she has gotten pretty big – like, big enough to have trouble getting up off the couch without his help. She says his little brother should be here a little bit before Halloween and right now there is only two weeks left of summer vacation. He forgets what month that's called. Its all summer to him, and summer means trips to the water park and begging Dad for a dollar when the Ice Cream Man comes (Dad says Mom isn't allowed to have money, which doesn't make sense because Mom is the one that's usually home when the Ice Cream Man comes, but Bobby doesn't say anything about this.) Mostly though, summer is Mom tinted blue in the TV screen light, sprawled on the couch nearest to the fan. They're both stuck in this living room with the shades drawn down and all the doors shut in a desperate attempt to keep the cool air in. Outside, he can hear his friends playing.
But he won't budge from the narrow strip of couch he has claimed for himself. His hand has been fastened on the tight ball of her abdomen for what feels like hours – waiting, waiting, waiting - and Mom with the remote, clicking, clicking, clicking. "Bobby, go outside!" she'll sigh exasperatedly between clicks, as if she expects him to actually listen this time. "You can't stay inside all day" she continues on feelingly, but her eyes don't quite leave the TV screen. He remains seated and she keeps on with her clicking. They both know this is where they want to be.
The first time he felt his little brother kick – and it is a brother, he doesn't need anyone to tell him that to know it's true - was in March, in the week between his and Mom's birthdays. (One of Mom's weird friends said having birthdays a week a part means he's an Aries and Mom's a Pisces and "oh my gawd, that explains everything!" He didn't know what bullshit she was going on about and told her so.) It felt like a real foot about the size of his fist with five toes and everything. He doesn't know why he expected it to be something more mysterious, but there it was – a real foot, attached to a real, tiny person.
After that he followed Mom around everywhere asking if the baby was kicking again. "Not yet" she would always say with a coy smile, but as soon as Dad got home from work and washed the grease off his hands she would sit down in the kitchen and exclaim, "the baby's kicking!" like she had just spotted a fire in the third row of a movie theatre. "He knows you're home Dad!" Bobby would say and Dad would smile wistfully from his usual spot, against the counter with a beer in his hand. Sometimes - or maybe it was just that one time, but still… - Dad put his beer down and used his mammoth hand to gently guide Bobby's to the exact spot his baby brother was kicking.
That was kinda cool.
He can't ever tell Mom this, but sometimes he can't wait until Dad gets home so he rests his hand on her stomach when she's taking one of her naps. He makes sure to poke her a few times to make sure she's really asleep and if she's not he always has a good backup lie (that's one of the things he'll be sure to teach his brother: always have a good lie.) Once he knows Mom is definitely asleep Bobby starts talking to him.
At first it was just about the Jets and his new transformer toy he might let him play with if he promises not to get any baby drool on it, but then he starts telling him about Mom and Dad too. About how Mom cries a lot and Dad yells, how sometimes Mom will start muttering to herself in Spanish and Dad will tell her to "SHUT UP" because "it's not real Spanish!" Yeah, Bobby doesn't know what real Spanish is either. But don't worry. Once he comes everything will be okay. Bobby doesn't need anyone to tell him that to know its true.