When people meet my little girl and she's sitting in her buggy or on a chair, they think she's at least four years old. It's the lustrous hair, I think, perhaps also her expressive face, her lean torso and the fact that she speaks in clear, complex sentences. Yet when she stands up there's no mistaking she's two years and nine months. Look, she still fits nicely into her dolly's buggy. Of course, when she's twelve years and nine months, or twenty years and nine months, or thirty years and nine months (oh my!) she'll still be my little girl.