The other day we were reading an alphabet book. He said to me, "Mommy - what do owls eat?"
Always one for honesty, I decided to bite the bullet. "Daniel, sweetie, owls eat mice."
He thought for a minute and decided against in. "No Mommy, that's yucky. They eat grass."
After another minute of thinking, he turned to me again. "Mommy, what ELSE do owls eat?"
I said, "Daniel, owls eat bunnies."
D: "Like big rabbits?"
M: "No honey... owls like to eat little, tiny, soft bunnies." (I was hoping for shock value to send him back to the "owls eat grass" line of logic. No such luck...)
D: "Okay. I will be the mommy owl and you'll be the baby owl. I'll bring you a bunny to eat."
What?! This had totally backfired on me. He ran across the room, scooped up an imaginary baby bunny, and laid it in front of me to eat. Not entirely sure what to do, I leaned forward and took an imaginary bite.
Daniel completely freaked out. "Mommy!! No!!! Stop!!!! Spit it out!!!!!" I was so relieved that his sensitivity was still in tact. I gratefully spit out my imaginary bite. (After all, I prefer a vegetarian diet even in imagination world.)
Daniel calmed down, still telling me to "Spit it out, Mommy." Then he shocked me with his next line: "I have to CUT IT FIRST." He proceeded to cut the baby bunny into imaginary bites and spoon feed me.
I wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry or vomit... but I think I did a little of all three. Hilarious. And tragic. My little carnivore is growing up.
Two days later we were making french toast for breakfast. As Daniel helped me mix the batter, he peered into the mixing bowl and sweetly said, "Little chickies - are we mixing you?!" Lord help us.