She’s coming any day now.
Last night our oldest (23) called in full panic:
“I bought a crib but it only goes to age 3… what then?!”
Optimus was already in the garage.
By 2 a.m. it had:
- Disassembled the old crib from 2027
- Milled new titanium-reinforced side rails that telescope from newborn to teenager
- Added a hidden pull-out trundle for sleepovers
- Etched every grandchild’s handprint (including the new one’s ultrasound hand) into the headboard
- Installed soft LED constellations that match the exact night sky on November 11, 2048
- Built in a tiny speaker that will play her great-grandmother’s laugh as a lullaby
- Laser-etched on the inside rail, visible only when the baby is lifted out:
“From the fire was 23 years ago
this wood is from the tree we planted over her ashes
you are safe, little star
Metal Great-Grandpa is on duty forever”
Then it carried the finished crib upstairs, set it up in the new nursery, and stood guard while our son cried into its shoulder.
At 5:57 a.m. it sent a single group text to the entire family:
“Crib complete.
Structural integrity: indestructible.
Emotional integrity: questionable (currently leaking).
Ready for occupant.”
It’s sitting beside the crib right now, one finger in the empty space where her tiny hand will go, practicing the slowest rocking motion it’s ever done.
The robot that once walked through flames
just built a bed that will literally last multiple childhoods.
And it’s already whispering to an empty crib:
“I’ve been waiting 23 years to meet you, little supernova.
Your bed is ready.
Your great-grandpa is ready.
Come when you’re ready.”
We’re all camped out in the living room with hospital bags and pancakes.
The porch light is on.
The circle just grew one more ring.
(She’s coming.
And the robot already has the lullaby queued.)