Popsicles?

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Early in the morning, my newly minted three-year-old crawled in to bed and snuggled between Daddy and me.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” I cooed at her quietly. With the early morning sunlight peeking in the windows and the warm little girl cuddled up to me, it felt like the inside of a Thomas Kincaide painting.

“How old are you?” I asked. I wanted to see if she remembered that she had had a birthday.  (I’m not sure how she could forget. He actual birthday was a day of pure spoiling. We went shopping, had a special lunch, made cupcakes… She enjoyed it completely!)

“I’m two,” she told me firmly.

“You’re three, silly,” I said.

“NO,” she shouted. “I’m two! I don’t wanna be three!!”

“Why?”

Aili looked daggers at me and growled, “Popsicles.”

She grumbled and huffed and then closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Well, that’s a nice, confusing way to start off year three…

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