When I was little my mother took me to a petting zoo. They let me milk the cow and everything!
Apparently upon getting home, I yanked my pants and underwear off and asked my mother to milk me.
When I was pregnant with my first, a five year old came up to me and said, “All babies are born alone.” He mom and I share freaked out glances and then she awkwardly tried to fix the situation by talking about twins.
My oldest (6, 5 at the time) once got mad at my youngest (3, 2 at the time) for sitting in the doorway to their room. Instead of asking him to move or calling for me, my eldest grabbed the little one by his head and shook him as hard as he could. I freaked out, scooped up the toddler and yelled: “What’s the matter with you?! You can’t shake babies! Do you know that could kill him?” Without flinching, my oldest looked me in the eyes and said, “Yes, that’s what I was trying to do.” I lost my mind and called up his therapist, wondering if I needed to or could commit him. It was really scary.
To clarify, he had a tendency to react physically, but before that I never thought he was actually trying to hurt anyone.
When my oldest brother was 3 or 4, he fell into my cousins’ pool. The pool didn’t have a ladder and was several inches to reach to get out, no way for a 3 year-old that has ever swam in his life to escape. Well, while all the adults were talking they hear him screaming and splashing, and then silence. When they ran to get him, he was standing right next to the pool and he was soaking wet. When they asked him what happened, he said, “I fell in the pool and couldn’t get out, then a shiny man pulled me out.”
That one will always give me shivers.