We didn't really explain it to him but he's a good figuring-outter

"What number is that?" he asked, as we walked down the road and he indicated a street number.

"It's a three."

"What's a three?"

"It's the number after two and before four. One, two, three, four. And you're three years old."

"No, I'm two."

"You're a silly monkey and you're three."

"I want to be two though."

"Sorry. You'll never be two again. You can be four next year though."

"But I want to be two next year."

"You can't be. I can try to make you a brother or sister who will be two sometime, though."

"Yeah!" Happy capering. And then, from him:

"The last one won't be two."

"What?"

"The last one won't be two. It was broken, and you went to the hospital, and we had to get it taken out."

"Yes, that's right, and we were very sad."

"Yes. We were very sad."

A moment's silence.

"I want to be a monster truck."

"Okay."