Four.

Rocco didn’t believe it was his birthday last Wednesday.  I told him he looked older, he looked bigger, but he said he still felt like he was three, and it couldn’t be his birthday yet.  I told him that I knew how to tell if it was his birthday—go to the table and look for presents!  He found them, he opened them, and then I asked how old he was.  He counted it out for me:

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He said it might be his birthday, but he wouldn’t turn four until he ate his birthday cake.  So later I took him to the store and let him pick out a cake.  In the car on the way home he asked, “How long until we get home?  I can’t wait another inch!”

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So we ate the cake and Rocco told me that now he is four.  Proof:

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The day after his birthday he woke up and asked, “Where is the shirt Grandma got me that’s too big?”  I found it for him and he put it on, then came out holding a pair of his shorts.  “I put on my shirt, but the only shorts I can find are these ones I used to wear when I was three!”

I already love the four-year-old him.

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2 thoughts on “Four.

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