"I know an old woman who swallowed a fly.Her screams woke me up at 1.30am. I went in, hoping she hadn't had a nightmare (the last time that happened, we were up for hours trying to resettle her). TLM pointed to a dark patch, next to her head on the mattress, saying "I die, I die" in a shaky voice. So I told her she wasn't dying; she'd just vomited.
I don't know why she swallowed a fly.
Perhaps she'll die."
Now, we've not been discussing the concept of death with TLM - I don't know when I will, either. But we have been reading together a beautifully illustrated book of the rhyme above. I can only assume she'd been dreaming of the old lady who, by the last page, has kicked the bucket due to ridiculously inappropriate ingestion.
TLM went on to wake up in puddles of vomit until 4am (which is how our laundry hamper went from empty to chockful overnight). But at least she no longer thought she was going to die.