34

"Rowan, it's my birthday today."

"Is your bertday?"

"Yup."

"How many counts are you?"

I love that.  Incidentally, I'm 34, which feels like being 23 but with the hairline of a 34-year-old.

Later, random kid at daycare: "Happy birthday, Lyla's dad."

Then on the way home in the car:

"Happy bertday, Daddy.  I said happy bertday, Daddy."

"Thank you, Rowan."

"Daddy?  I don't want carrot cake."  My birthday, my cake choice.

"Lyla, carrot cake tastes nothing--"

"Happy bertday, Daddy!"

"--like carrots.  They just call it carrot--"

"HAPPY BERT--"

"Thank you, Rowan."

"--DAY, DAAAAADY."

"But Daddy, I don't like--"

"It's not like carrots, Lyla.  It's just orange cake."

"Happy bertday, Daddy."

"Rowan!  Daddy, he already said that."

"He can say that as much as he wants, Lyla."

"Happy bertday, Daddy."

"Thank you, Rowan."

"Daddy?  I don't like carrot cake."

"Daddy, I nike cawwet cate!"

"Rowan, you can have Lyla's carrot cake."

"No, Daddy!"

"I'm kidding, Lyla.  But if you don't like it, you can give it to your brother."

"Happy bertday, Lyla."

Spoiler alert: Turns out Lyla loves carrot cake.