The sozlet reads lots of books about farms, animals, whatnot. Lots of mommy chicken sitting on eggs so they hatch into baby chickens type narratives. Cheep cheep go the adorable little baby chickens.
So, helping me make breakfast, seeing the yolks -- "Baby chickens!"
No, no, these are a special kind of egg, it doesn't become a chicken.
This is pondered a few days. Brows are wiped in relief when it seems to have been a one-time thing.
Then, again, helping to make scrambled eggs, "baby chicken!" Oh dear. Reaction simmering, do we go the "different kinds of eggs" route again, or... "I want to eat the baby chicken!" You do? "Yes, I am a snake! I eat baby chickens!"
So much for the existential crisis...