"Why do we die?" asks Mia.
"Because our bodies wear out. But don't worry. That's not going to happen for a long long time."
"You could be eighty. Or a hundred."
"How many is that?"
"Well, you're five. It's like as long as this life you've had, you could have twenty like it!"
"Like if I'm that big," she squeezes her thumb and forefinger together, "it would be this long?" And stretches her arms as far apart as they can go. "Or like this?" And bends her arms back behind her until they touch.
I laugh. "Yeah, that long!"