In three years, I’ll be 10, she says.

I know.

In three years, I may be as tall as you, she says.

I know.

In three years, I’ll be as smart as Thomas, she says.

I know.

In three years, I’ll be able to get Amos from his crib, she says.

I know.

In three years, I’ll maybe wear dresses, she says.

I know.

In three years, I won’t fit in your lap, she says.

I know.

In three years, you’ll still be my little girl, I say.

I know, she says.