Ask Me No Questions

Is it possible for a mother to go slowly insane raising an extremely nosy child?

Aimee is exceptionally inquisitive. I laugh as I type that because the word does not even come close to accurately describing how curious she is. I cannot get through an hour without 25 or more questions hurled at me, many of which she knows the answer and just wants to see if I will give the same response. Here’s an example of her especially annoying interrogations:

“Here, Aimee, I cut up an apple for you in case you’re hungry,” I will say.

Now, normally, a child would just say, “Thanks, Mom,” or “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” Not Aimee. Here are a series of questions that I will face with the aforementioned simple statement.

“You made me a snack because you thought I was hungry?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Is it a green apple or a red apple?” (She’s not blind; the apple is right in front of her.)

I point and say, “See for yourself.” If it’s green, she will say, “You gave me green because you know I like them?” If it’s red, she’ll say, “Why? Because red apples are crunchy?”

Then she will ask: “Did you cut it up for me or is it whole?”

“Um, seriously?” I ask. Again, I point to the plate. If I cut it, she will say, “Did you cut it because it’s easier for me to eat that way?”

If it’s whole, I she will say, “Why? Because you didn’t feel like cutting it?”

You may think I am exaggerating, but these questions swoop at me like hawks attacking their prey. I cannot dodge them or she will only ask more. Yet lately, I have had it with the Spanish Inquisition and find myself saying, “Aimee, enough. It’s a snack, for Pete’s sake. There isn’t more to be said about it.”

I feel awful when I shoot her down because, as parents, shouldn’t we celebrate our child’s curiosity? But she talks so much I often find it hard to think. I will be rushing around trying to get ready for the day and she will come to me, a mental list ready for what she wants to know that day, and I cannot keep my own thoughts straight. “Aimee, I love you but I need five minutes of quiet so I can organize my thoughts,” I tell her.

“Okay, Mommy. But…”

“No ‘buts’,” I say. “Please.”

But by then my thoughts are long gone and I have to stop and think for a while. At that point she thinks she has waited long enough and starts to ask something else just as I have remembered what I need to do.

As a former journalist, I shouldn’t be surprised my husband (who is also a journalist) and I gave birth to the next Carl Bernstein. But until then, I’m going to practice what I need to do to get through the next decade or so: deep breathing.

photo by svilen mushkatov, courtesy of stock.xchng