Three

Tiny hairs covered his face. His son comically rubbed his own chin, “Mine’s almost the same!”
“Almost! Just.... ten years away, I’d expect!”
The boy looked down at his hands, silent counting his tiny fingers. He presented a sum, to which his father laughed. “No, no, both hands.” He held up both hands and counted from one to two to ten.
The small hands poked at the stubble. “Does mommy make you cut it all the time?”
“Yeah, mommy does.”
“Why?”
“Some mommies don’t like it, I guess.”
“Oh,” said the boy, as he rubbed his own chin again.
His wife came into the living room, somewhat confused. “I’m... I’m sorry... who were you just talking to?”