I am a singer.
Not by trade (although if you'd like to pay me to sing, I will gladly take you up on it). But it's that little part of me that's just SO ME -- it's in every part of me. Growing up, I was always singing at home, at school, in traveling choirs, in weddings -- it was just WHO I WAS.
Since I didn't make it on Broadway (nor did I try, if we're being honest), I've been relegated to singing to my husband and dogs for the last 15 years. The dogs do listen attentively, but only because they think I might be about to feed them. And while my husband appreciates my voice, I can only keep his interest for so long unless I make up new words that make him laugh. (And it's really hard to work the word "poop" into an aria.)
So when we found out we were having a baby, one of the first thoughts that sprang to mind (besides "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!") was, "Hooray! Someone to sing lullabyes to!"
Now, my parents both sing, too, and apparently I was a hard-to-get-to-sleep baby, so I heard a TON of lullabyes growing up. One of my favorites, "A Tiny Turned-Up Nose," is basically a family heirloom that gets passed down at this point:
A tiny turned-up nose,
Two cheeks just like a rose,
So sweet from head to toe,
This little boy of mine.
Two eyes that shine so bright,
Two lips that kiss goodnight,
Two arms that hold me tight,
This little boy of mine.
No one will ever know
Just what his coming has meant.
Because I love him so;
he's something heaven has sent.
He's all the world to me!
He climbs upon my knee.
To me he'll always be
This little boy of mine.
I sang this to Jackson the first week we brought him home, alone in the nursery, rocking in our rocking chair, with tears streaming down my face, so incredibly thankful for this little bundle of boy in my arms.
It's one of my favorite memories as a mama so far.
But a few nights later, at 4 a.m., after two hours of singing to a wide-awake baby...it happened.
I ran out of lullabyes.
I'd run through "Hush Little Baby," "Baby of Mine," "Little Redbird," "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" and countless others. And there we sat, him looking at me expectantly, eyes wide and curious, waiting to be entertained.
And that is how it came to pass that my son will someday have a distant memory of being lulled to sleep by '80s power ballads.
(For the record, he prefers "Every Rose Has Its Thorn.")
