I have children who suffer from some disassociation with reality when it comes to their age. There is a major disconnect between their true age and the 'age' they view themselves to be. I mean, they know their age. Their number. But it just doesn't seem to occur to them that that means anything.
I realized this was the case with Pen when she was 3 1/2 and was admitted to preschool. The poor girl didn't know what she was going to teach the children. It came as such a shock to her when I informed her that she was going to be one of the students and not a teacher.
Then there's Big. He is quite convinced that it is his mother that is holding him back from being able to pursue his construction career. The fact that he was 3 years old when he accused me of such means absolutely nothing. Age is just a number, after all.
As I was unloading the dishwasher just now, Edith eagerly crawled over to 'help' me out. As she approached I said aloud, "Uh-oh. Looks like the baby is coming to give me a hand." Edith actually stopped mid-crawl to look behind her to see who I was talking about.
Looks like I've birthed another one.