“Mommy, did you know that there are many ways to die?”

I pulled my son’s uniform over his head, trying not to show that I was taken aback by this out-of-the-blue statement. We were getting ready for school and he was fresh from the shower, lathered with lotion, his damp hair matted down on his forehead. The sun was shining brightly outside, the birds were chirping happily, and my curious, contemplative child wanted to discuss death.

“Oh yeah?” I said, “What are these different ways?”

“Well,” he continued, matter-of-factly, “If someone shoots your tummy with a blaster, you can die. Or you fall down and you break all of your pieces. Or if you hit your head.”

We put on his shorts, his socks, I folded his sleeves.

“I see. You’re right, there are a lot of ways you can die. Does it scare you?”

“No, I just wanted to tell you that there are different ways.” He lay down on the bed and started making blaster sounds.

“Okay, I see. There really are many different ways to die. Now, how about we think about all the different ways we can live wonderfully? Do you have any ideas? Like, when you go to the beach and dig in the sand all day long.”

His little face lit up, as I knew it would, because digging in the sand is high on his list of priorities.

“Yeah, mommy! How about, playing your favorite games with your favorite friends? Also, going for a walk and picking flowers!”

“I think those are all wonderful ways to live.” I positioned my heavily pregnant self beside him on the bed, looked him in the eye and said, “Also, telling your loved ones all the time that you love them. I love you, baby boy.”

He put his hand on my tummy and made cooing sounds at his soon-to-born little sister. “I felt her kick! She’s kicking!” I told him that she likes the sound of his voice, that’s why. And then I told him again, “Did you hear me? I love you so much!”

“Yes, I know. I love you too, mommy”. He paused for a little bit, and then to no one in particular said out loud, “Another way to live is to tell the truth all the time.” I laughed a little, and injected that yes, that would be great, and he should do it even if he’s going to get in trouble. I’m not sure if he agreed, but this time he kept his opinion to himself.

We were already running late for school, but he wanted to cuddle a little bit, saying he loves hugging my big tummy. I decided that a request for cuddles isn’t something that I’m going to get a lot of in the coming years, so school could wait.

Then he asked me to imagine what it would be like if we lived in a street where everyone was a baby, and how great would that be? He made baby sounds, and then he laughed at his own silliness. Yes, honey, imagine a world where everyone was innocent,  and sweet, and new. That really would be great, wouldn’t it?