Why, why, why, why, why, why, why?

I can handle the terrible twos, the tantrums, the screaming for sweets and stuff in supermarkets, the relentless cheek, the constant messiness and noise that being a parent brings. But carrying one particular parental cross really frays my nerves. The ‘Why?’ phase.
They’ve all gone through it. But a bit like childbirth you forget about the pain once it’s all over.
We are wading through the ‘Why?’ phase at the moment with our youngest son. Up until around two weeks ago he was satisfied with the standard ‘because I said so!’ response to the various instructions that I handed out.
But then he woke up one morning and, like those annoying application forms which demand 300 word answers to questions that really only need a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, he needed substantially more information.
“Stop drawing on the wall,” I would say.
“Why?” he would reply.
“Because I said so,” I’d say back.
“Why?” he would inquire.
“Because your father spend his entire weekend painting that wall and when he sees the artwork you have just fashioned on it he most certainly will not have a big smiley face like the one you just drew.”
“Why?” he would say.
“Because he’s a man, because he takes his DIY very seriously. Because he’s had to paint the exact wall 15 times since July.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because the people who invented washable paint obviously didn’t test it in a house with such a hardcore graffiti artist such as yourself Finn.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t know, maybe they were experiencing budget cuts. Perhaps they tested the durability in a house full of little girls. Or maybe they haven’t discovered that markers bought from pound shops are practically invincible when it comes to cleaning.”
“Why?” he asked.
It would be worth it if they were actually learning things from all those bogus questions, but that's not really what's happening at this stage. I doubt he’s even absorbing the highly detailed and researched answers I’m giving him. It’s exhausting.
“Don’t eat those dog biscuits, Finn,” I say.
“Why?” he asks, crunching and chewing.
“Because they are for dogs.” I say, fishing them out of his mouth.
“Why?” he cries, distraught that I am denying him their chalky taste.
“Scientists in a big laboratory develop these food stuffs especially for canines. Enriched with vitamins and minerals, which promote a shiny coat and healthy teeth. They do nothing whatsoever for humans. Plus they taste like cardboard.”
“Why?”
“Because they are for dogs and dogs can’t write letters of complaint to major canine food manufacturers about lack of taste and flavour.”
“Why?”
“Because dogs can’t hold pens properly!”
“Why?”
“Argghhhh!!!!”
Yes, this can be quite annoying. But when I get frustrated I look into my baby boy’s blue eyes and I ask myself, how is this child going to know if pot pourri tastes nice, if dogs can type and pound shop pens are indestructible unless he asks me? If he didn’t ask why 125 times per day on subjects as varied as petrol and the moon, how will he learn useless facts about life?
It’s my job to teach him. And teach him well I will.
“Why?”…..