"Mommy, is there always chicken inside of a chicken nugget?"
"Yes, usually. As far as I know." (Oh please God let that be the end of it ...)
"Why."
I should say that she never asks why, she says why. She demands why. Often, she says why before I can even respond to her first question. Sometimes I wonder if she's really listening to my response at all, or just waiting until she hears words and sounds come out of my mouth so she can press an automated button inside her mouth that says "Why." It's her default.
One time we were driving in the car and neither of us had said anything for quite awhile. There was no topic of conversation on the table, no thread of a story left hanging in the air. Just silence for several minutes, and then, out of the blue, from the back seat: "Why." I had no idea what the hell she was talking about, but it didn't matter, because clearly she wanted an answer to something.
So I made something up, which was fine with her, because she wasn't really listening to me anyway. She had been asleep the whole time. It's amazing what you can tune out when you are three.
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