It's inevitable, I guess, given that there's a birthday, The B's fourth, just around the corner.
The countdown has begun already, 24 sleeps to go, the wishlist growing daily, just like the excitement.
"How old are you, Daddy?" he asked me the other day.
"You know how old I am," I replied.
He adopted his thoughtful face for a moment, looked at me as though trying to carbon date me, and then hazarded his best guess.
"50?" he asked.
I gave him the look.
"60?" he tried.
"70?" came his final attempt.
I sent him packing.
The conversation was again age-related this afternoon, The B quizzing The W, asking how many sleeps it'd be until she turned 50.
The W pointed out that when such a time comes, The B will be approaching 20 and, in all likelihood, will no longer be living with us.
Hearing such news, his face crumpled.
"But I always want to live with Mummy and Daddy," he wailed.
Given that there are 24 sleeps still remaining until he turns four, there's plenty of time for him to get used to the idea.