Living with a four year old is like living with Robin Williams. Someone is always in character and I’m not always sure if I’m supposed to be in character, too, or if the game has rules or if we’re even playing a game and if you didn’t want me to be a train conductor today, then please don’t get mad if I say “All aboard” like I did yesterday for you.
I rarely write about my kids here because it’s not that kind of blog, but I couldn’t stop laughing at this one. The kids were playing Chimpunk Gives Birth in a Pop-up Tent and the four year old gave birth to the baby chipmunk, who was played by the two year old who had no idea what was going on. Scratch that. I think she does know what’s going on, as I recently realized that just because a toddler is quiet doesn’t mean they’re not absorbing every profane word you say.
I congratulated her on her birth to the 33 pound chipmunk wearing Vans and a diaper.
Kid: Now you need to get me to surgery because I only want to have one baby.
Kid: Surgery. So I don’t have more babies. Like for [the cat].
A few months ago, she told me that she wanted the cat to have kittens and I told her that she couldn’t, which prompted question after question about spaying animals. She hasn’t yet realized that I don’t just decide to—poof!—grow a baby and I hope the rest of the reproduction questions can wait until she’s in kindergarten so that anything we tell her will get relayed in a kid-filtered, embarrassing manner straight to her teacher.