Magical Number 4

So my poor little Isaac is conviced that in order to really be 4 years old, he must also be 4 feet tall. Every article of clothing he wears has to say "4T" or he won't wear it because it's not for 4 year olds. He only wants to play with toys that say "4 + years" on them. He's a little stuck on this number 4 business. When he woke up yesterday, he was so excited that he'd gotten a good night's sleep because he knows that when you sleep in your own bed all night and don't bother mom, it makes you big and stong. He hurried and measured himself to see if he'd hit the 4 foot mark yet. He hadn't. So, he ran into the kitchen to get a giant drink of water, thinking that might help. It didn't. In desperation, he bolted to the closet to get his snow boots, positive that those would give him the boost he needed. Nope. This is becoming a morning ritual for him, and is pretty comical and sad at the same time. I don't have the heart to tell him that, given his genetic make up, he probably won't be 4 feet tall for a while.