"Mommy?" came the whisper again from the foot of the bed, the place where Abi crawls in at some silent unknown moment of the night, to a pillow that waits for her there.
"Huh?" I grunted, half asleep. She recognized this as the questioning grunt, akin to, 'What is it, my dear?'
"Mommy, how do cows get milk?"
"How do COWS get MILK?" she whispered again.
Processing is slow. She knows milk comes from cows, and now she wonders how cows get it. I glance at the bedside clock. It's five stinking thirty in the morning (yes, I think the clock actually said 5:stinking30).
Seriously? We're to get into a discussion of mammary glands and bodily changes hormonally instigated by the onset of generating offspring at five stinking thirty in the morning?
I have come to handle the line of questioning I normally receive at that time of day while remaining half asleep.
"Mommy, can I go play dress-up?"
"Mommy, I'm hungry."
By now, she has been known to just slip out, get dressed into something grossly inadequate for a Colorado winter, help herself to something edible, and apparently set small bombs off in her room until sometimes close to seven.
But this morning? Cows?
Alright. I should be proud, right? Pleased that my four year old daughter has such a curious mind, asks questions, doesn't blindly accept or take things for granted. I should be excited that she's so smart, and leap into instruction, guidance, and encouragement.
"SHHHHH! Be still! Be quiet! I'll tell you later."
New family rule: Nothing more substantial than primitive grunts until at least six o'clock.