You have this conversation on the way home from school.
Flea: Mummy, what's good is that there's a new boy in our class and his birthday is the day after mine, so I'm not the youngest in my class any more.
Me: Oh, that's nice, isn't it.
Flea: Yes, Peter's birthday is on the 15th but mine is on the 14th. So I am one day older.
Me: No it's not, darling, yours is on the 15th. Your birthdays are the same, so you're the same age.
Flea: I thought my birthday was on the 14th! Silly me.
Me: Nope. Sorry. It's the 15th.
Flea [sounding very unsure]: That's strange. Because on my blanket from when I was a baby, it says one-four…
Me: Does it? Really? Um…
I'll now take bets on which person in this conversation turned out to be RIGHT, and which person turned out to be a TERRIBLE MOTHER. This may be worse than the incident where I pointed to Flea in her school photograph and asked, "Who's that little girl there?"
