Julie Jay: My preschooler is a walking, talking, information-gathering machine

Irish Examiner

13-05-2025

There is so much I love about hanging out with my children — the hugs, the kisses, and the barrage of questions which serve as daily reminders that I know very little about this planet, despite living here most of my life.
So philosophical are some of these queries, I often find myself verging on an existential crisis before I've ever had my Coco Pops.
Given that the baby can't yet string a sentence together, we will cut him some slack, but Number One is basically a walking, talking, information-gathering machine. Forget foreign apps stealing my data: The top threat to my GDPR is sitting two feet away in my ramshackle kitchen.
The four-year-old is curious and mad to acquire as much knowledge as possible, especially regarding the natural world. Unfortunately for him, his mother is not exactly a wealth of information about nature, given that I have the reputation of being perhaps the only citizen of the world who never made it through a David Attenborough documentary.
The truth is, if I wanted to see males tear strips off one another, I'd just mosey along to Temple Bar on a Saturday night.
When Number One asks questions, he is not messing about. His need to know the answer immediately is nothing short of urgent, so he usually can't wait until I'm finished on the loo or done declogging the shower drain (given Daddy's lack of hair, I'm happy to take this one for the team), before bombarding me with queries.
I knew parenting came with sleepless nights, but I didn't realise it also came with having to explain why you can't marry your mammy or how we know for sure the world is round.
The latter question has been coming with increasing frequency of late, so we are adding 'flat-earther' to Number One's list of interests as he heads in to junior infants.
Last week, I woke up to Number One peering over me, asking the big question, 'Mammy, how do fish find their way home when the ocean is so big?' And I just… blinked. Because that is a fair question. And I don't know the answer.
Do they go on instinct? Is there a Google Maps for fish? If so, does it also tell them to turn right just a beat too late, resulting in them having to do an emergency U-turn and explain to a concerned guard when stopped that they were just making an impromptu dash for chips?
It is amazing how one question leads to a litany.
Number One asks questions like it's his full-time job. And not soft ones. Oh, no. He is clearly borrowing from the book of Jeremy Paxman at his peak, and rather than beating around the bush, he just cuts straight to the chase.
'Mammy, why do you have hair on your toes?' Or, 'If I eat too many peas, will I turn green?' Once, he asked me, very solemnly, 'What would happen if Daddy turned in to a toilet?'
It was a fair question, pointing to the inordinate amount of time his father spends on the throne.
And Number One giggled when I said I would still love Daddy, but he'd probably look a little strange in the family photos.
I've Googled more questions in the last year than in all of my time in college. 'Do whales sleep?' 'Are clouds heavier than cows?' Thanks to my inquisitive little guy, I have become the dream team-mate for pub quizzes, including a nature round, though still utterly useless for anything else, unless there is a section on reality television.
I love how Number One's constant questioning has made me question the status quo and reconsider stories and narratives I once thought straightforward.
AT the end of our re-reading of the Hungry Caterpillar the other night, Number One looked pensive as the baby played with the beautiful butterfly finger puppet at the end.
For those of you unfamiliar with this modern classic, it revolves around a caterpillar who — spoiler alert — turns in to a butterfly.
'Mammy,' he ventured after a minute. 'What is so wrong with being a caterpillar?'
He accompanied this wonderful question with a hand movement so adorable in its quiet dramatics that I almost burst with love for him.
Because what is wrong with being a caterpillar? The answer is nothing, nothing at all, but it took a four-year-old to ask the question.
I told him as much, and also how thoughtful and wonderful he was to think of such a beautiful question. Snuggling down, I kissed him goodnight, and he repeated, 'Caterpillars are beautiful, too, mammy,' which will undoubtedly be the origin story should the makers of Marvel films read this column and decide to make Colin the Caterpillar a new type of hero.
I love my children's curiosity. I never want them to lose it, because the older I get, the more I understand that we need to ask more questions, not fewer.
Except, of course, when it relates to Mammy's hairy toes.
That's one where I feel the status quo just needs to be accepted, without challenge.