Monkey asks about death, blah blah, I try to field the questions in an honest but non-freaking-him-out way.
Him: When will I die?
Me: Not for a long time, when you're old, probably.
Him: But I want to die with you.
Me: No, I'm sure I'll die a long time before that.
Him: But I want to die with you, otherwise I'll be left with Daddy and he'll be scary all the time.
Me, in the course of telling him that he doesn't really understand what death means yet, but that as his life goes on he will start to: Probably one of your grandparents will be the first person you know to die. Grandad's 80 now, so some time in the next 10 years it's likely he'll die. (Sorry, Dad.)
Him: And then will they put him [uh oh, I know what's coming] in the people museum?
Me: No, they don't put people in the museum like that. [Carefully not saying where they do put them.]
Him: When I'm grown up I'm going to invent a building that's a people museum.
I've spent far too many minutes of my life recently watching poo exit from my son's bum. I really never needed to get this close to the action. I know I should be thankful that he's pooing on the toilet, and that he's not constipated, but really, I look forward to the day when he needs his privacy.
A while ago now Monkey asked what his scrotum was for, and was told. And more recently he asked me how Daddy had put the seed for the baby inside me. Argh. All this honesty in parenting leads to things like this:
Monkey gets the big how-babies-happen talk while in the car on the way to school. He thinks about it for a bit and then announces: "When Miss is grown up I'm going to give her a surprise..."
Me [thinks]: Great, a new topic. Phew. Dodged a bullet there.
Him: ...I'm going to put a seed inside her...
Monkey rolls around on the floor with his baby sister: "I'm marrying her!"
Monkey looks mournful at the dinner table, as I wash up and he finishes his ubiquitous toast: "I really did want [I thought he was going to say 'a Spider-Man costume', but no...] to put a seed in you to make us get a new baby..."