As of today, the girl is 4; set to turn 5 in January; already 32 in her mind. She’s tall, but petite, and still in a car seat with the booster and back – and accordingly, rides in the back seat. I keep her on the passenger side in back, so as to better make faces at her while we wait at red lights and such.
Tonight, on our way home from the store, she starts lightly whacking the side of her foot into the car door. At first, I don’t realize what the sound is, and glance back at her, alarmed.
Me: “Baby, what was that?!”
She (wearing too-innocent face and refusing eye contact): “I don’t know. What was what? I don’t hear anything.”
Me: “Hm, Ok. Must have been my imagination. Nevermind.”
She (whacking foot a bit louder now): “Momma, that? That sound? Is that what you heard? Because it’s just a zombie trying to get in the car and eat our brains.”
(She reaches over and manually locks her door)
She: “There, momma, I locked my door so the zombie can’t get in.” Stops whacking foot and listens intently. “See? All gone.”
We drive in silence for a moment while I attempt to put my brain around why the child knows of zombies and brain eating.
She: “Momma, that was a girl zombie. Know how I know? Because she knocked. Boys don’t knock, they barge in.”