Sage woke up on the morning of her fourth birthday and found the loot her Mom and Dad got for her: a Disney Princess tent, an Ariel cartridge for her V-Smile and a mechanical puppy with a heartbreaking whine (the kind you adopt immediately or vehemently kick). She loved them all and played a little before we went out for her birthday breakfast at one of the doughnut places at the mall.
On the way there, a bit of our conversation:
ME: Sage, now that you're four years old, should I call you a little girl like before?
SAGE: No, Dad. You can call me "My Big Girl".
Four. Then Five. Then Ten. Then Thirteen. Then Eighteen. Then Twentyone. Then...