[Unrelated: In case you're interested, you still have until Monday morning to join the weight-loss competition!]
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Conversation in the car on the way home from preschool the other day:
Me: So, Daniel, what did you do in school today?
D: I did my journal. [As far as I can tell, they have a set of lined paper and are welcome to write whatever strikes their four-year-old fancy.]
Me: Oh, really? What did you write?
D: I wrote: “Me and Becca don’t want to die.”
Me: mouth agape, stunned silence
D: Well, what I wanted to write was “Me and Becca don’t want to die until we’re 100,” but I ran out of space, so I wrote “Me and Becca don’t want to die.”
W. T. F.?
I have mentioned this strange fixation on death before, and you can see it has not exactly gone away. Daniel, especially, is sticking with it (and the idea that people die at age 100, which I’m not sure how to debunk in either direction). I would say it comes up at least a few times a week, most often in a totally nonchalant way. It’s really getting under my skin, and yet I am at a total loss about what to do with it.
My gut reaction is that he doesn’t seem to be expressing any real anxiety over this idea. My default stance is a sort of non-reaction, maybe in the hopes that if I don’t overreact and draw extra attention and allure to the topic, it’ll eventually fade. But maybe I should try to talk to him about it in case he actually is concerned? I don’t even know where I’d begin, frankly.
Weird death thing aside, I will say that Daniel is otherwise your typical precocious preschooler. Generally happy, totally flighty and distractable, sometimes bent completely out of shape by the color of his fork. He’s a bright and inquisitive kid, which maybe means he’s digesting this information a little more thoroughly than his emotional maturity can handle, but otherwise is not a particularly anxious or stressed kid.
And, no, I actually haven’t gotten a call from his teacher about this. I get a call about Santa, but not about “me and Becca don’t want to die.” I can’t tell if that’s a good sign (as in, she’s been teaching preschoolers for 25 years and is totally unfazed) or what.
What say you, moms of the internets? Is this just one of those strange developmental things, an obsession that will pass with time? Or is this starting to cross a line and warrants a little TLC before he goes all morbid on me?