I pushed open the door to my daughter’s room. As I strode toward her, she looked up at me sheepishly. I put my arm on her shoulder.
“Mom, I just farted.”
“Oh…I see,” I breathed out carefully, “then I shall only exhale.. ” How lucky I was, that I had not yet refilled my lungs.
My feet shuffled quickly backwards, still slowly exhaling until I spun to dart through the exit.
I made it!
“Mom.” Her voice brushed softly against my ear. I turned my head to look at my 5 year old. She continued. “Who is gonna be our mom when you die?”
I blinked. “What?”
“I don’t want you to die. But who is gonna be our mom?” Tears rimmed her big eyes.
“Oh, honey, I am not dying. But I will always be in your heart, no matter what happens. I can be an angel and watch out for you forever.”
“But how do angels die?”
Even though I am an avid Supernatural fan, I tried to reassure her. “Angels don’t die. So I will watch you all the time.”
“But who will take care of us if you are an angel?”
Oh, come ON! Do all five year olds question death and caretakers every few days? I hugged her tight. “Your aunty will take care of you.”
She paused to think, staring at the wall behind me. “Okay. Can I watch movies now?”
I sighed and stroked her hair. “No. Please go to sleep. Shhhhh.”
My eyes narrowed suspiciously at my daughter’s arm. She was on her side in bed, and this dubious limb was dangling behind her hip. “Are you digging your butt?”
“Nooo… no, I’m not digging my butt. See?” Her questionable fist swung around with the ferocity of a tiger. An index finger jammed into my left nostril before my brain sluggishly processed the attack.
I flew backwards with a grunt and was grateful for the pillow that caught my head. Staring at the empty air in front of me, I sniffed timidly. She chortled next to me, quite proud of having proved her finger innocent. This time.