How bad does that hurt?

The Energizer Bunny is at a fantastic age where he likes to go over events, telling it different ways, asking questions, figuring out if he really got the whole story.

So here's the whole story - last weekend I slammed my finger in the car door. It blew.

But it seems the Energizer Bunny's may have gotten slightly more education from the incident -

"Your finger hurts Momma?"

"That's right, kiddo, my finger hurts."

"Your THUMB hurts Momma?"

"Yup, it's my thumb that hurts."

"You closed your thumb in the door?"

"That's right, I closed my thumb in the car door. Silly, huh?"

"That was silly, Momma." Insert fake laugh. "It hurt your thumb, Momma?"

"Yes, it hurt my thumb very badly."

"It hurt a lot?"

"Yep, it hurts a lot."

"It hurt like a bitch, Momma?"

Damn it, I don't even remember saying that.

Energizer Psychopath

I may be raising a psychopath.

We’re driving down the road to the store and the little Energizer Bunny is in his carseat, “Look, Momma, blue car.”

“Follow blue car, Momma.”

“Okay, I’ll follow the blue car, kiddo.”

“Momma following blue car.”

“Truck, Momma! Like Daddy’s truck, Momma!”

“You’re right, it IS just like Daddy’s truck.”

“Siiilver truck” (silver is a hard word)

“Red light, Momma! Red light, stop!”

“Yep, I’m stopping, kiddo.”

“Green light, Go!”

A lull of an entire twenty seconds, towards the end of which I was starting to stare at him in the mirror to make sure that he was indeed still breathing. And then…

“Momma?”

“Yes, baby?” (Just because he speaks in full paragraph form does not mean I have to stop calling him baby.)

“Wanna run someone over, Momma.”