That Doesn't Make Sense

Owen woke up this morning to a possibly slightly over-exuberant mother saying, "Happy Birthday!! You're four now!  You're the birthday boy and now you're four!"

Owen: No, I'm not.  I'm three.

Me:  It's your birthday, so now you're four.

Owen: But that doesn't make any sense.  I can't be four yet, because I'm three.

Me:  You were born on this day, so each year when it's this day, you have a birthday and you get to be another year older. Now you're four.

Owen: But I like being three.  I think I'm going to just be three today.

Then he got presents and birthday cards with money and dinner at McDonalds, and donuts, twizzlers and cookies (not quite a cake, but cut me some slack, we're moving!)  Suddenly being four was a really cool thing and O was happily telling us all about it.

So now it's bedtime, and Owen and I just had another birthday conversation.

Me:  Goodnight birthday boy.  I'll see you in the morning.

Owen:  I liked being four.  Is tomorrow my birthday, too?

Me:  Nope, today was your birthday.  Tomorrow's just a regular day, but you can play with all your new toys.

Owen:  Oh, when do I turn three again?  In the night or in the morning?

Me:  (just insert long explanation about how he has to be four for a whole year, and he's done with three)

Owen: Oh.

We'll see what he says when he wakes up tomorrow.