She says she's not four. She doesn't like four.
Four implies growing up, getting bigger, becoming less of a baby. And growing up is no good, you see.
But birthdays? Birthdays are okay. In fact, they're downright fabulous. On birthdays, Daddy wakes up early and takes us to pick out donuts.
Then, eats only the pink part and the sprinkles.
Little brother gets a donut too. He thinks sister's birthday is mighty fine indeed.
"Next year, Mommy, can I be a baby again in your belly?"
That's not exactly how birthdays work, I try to explain. "But you'll always be my baby," I say. "You'll always be my little girl."
"Yes, but I don't want to be 4 yet," she says.
"How about we say you're three plus one?" I ask.
"Do I still get to open presents?"
"Okay," she says. "Three plus one."