Which Came First?

Among the many subjects that are of great interest to Lily these days are chickens and death. The other night we were eating chicken for dinner when she remarked, casually, "These chickens had to get made dead for us to eat them," or something to that effect. "And they probably don't like it." I thought for a second. "Well, they don't know we're eating them. They're already dead," I said. She cleaned her plate.

Tonight, when I was putting her to bed, she said, "Mama, I love you so much that I will never stop loving you." I was touched. "Me too, Lily," I said. "I love you that much too." She furrowed her brow. "But I guess we'll have to stop loving each other when we're dead," she said. "I will love you forever," I answered immediately, hoping there was no chicken component to this conversation.

And yesterday, in the car, as the two of us were driving somewhere, the firm voice from the way back seat. "Mama?" I caught her eye in the rearview mirror. "Yes?" The characteristic gesticulating. "How do chickens make eggs?" Forgive me for not launching into a detailed ovulation explanation. We were in the car; I have to speak really loudly for her to hear me when I'm driving. I was distracted; I could tell she was just making idle conversation anyway. "Inside their bodies," I said. "We'll read a book about it later. I'll explain it better when we're not in the car." She nodded, already onto something else. But then, a few minutes later. "Mama? If the egg comes from inside the chicken, where did the first chicken come from?"

Oh, Lily. If I only I knew.