When A. arrived over a year ago, she was this little thing, barely fitting into her size 3 toddler clothes. She weighed 31 pounds. We believed she was 3.
Now, I cannot pick her up: she weighs 50 pounds and has grown nearly three inches taller.
Which means she's healthy and thriving. But it also means she's the tallest kid in pre-school, has already lost three front teeth and has the motor skills of a first grader.
She is not four. Which means she was not three when she joined our family.
And so, we decided to change her official age, to make her a year older than what the birth certificate from Ethiopia says. That's a legal process -- just documents and signatures.
But what about her process? What about this girl who has been telling everyone who asks, "I'm four!"?
It's a delicate issue, for sure, and I couldn't figure out how to handle it.
Finally, one day, I just said to her, "We talked to your dentist, and when she saw you lost your front teeth, she let us know that you're actually five."
"I'm five?"
"Yes, you're five."
"I can tell my friends at school I'm five?"
"Yes."
"Yayyyyyyyy! I'm five!"
"Yay, you're five!"
"And when I have my birthday, I'll be six?"
"That's right!"
She paused. "Mama? When's my birthday?"
Good question. We're still working on that one.
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