One of the great delights in having a new baby is that they’re fascinated by you, and they love it when you sing to them. They don’t care if you’re off-key, or if you don’t know the words to the tune. There’s nothing like having a baby to make you break out your inner Pavarotti. Or Bono. Hey, whatever — they love it, it’s all good.
Until they turn one.
For both my children, that seems to be the magic number when my cantorious voice turned into a shrill, grating train wreck. Kids seem to love certain CDs, and that generally means listening to a lot of Wiggles. And after listening to “Old Man Emu” for the millionth time, it’s harder to keep quiet than it is to belt it out along with Greg. As soon as I begin to sing along, both kids in unison shout, “Stop!” And if I don’t stop right away, they actually begin to cry.
That’s right. I’ve made my children cry by singing along to the Wiggles. No joke.
Here’s the part that only other parents can understand: And somehow, it’s still fun. Even if now it’s only to torture my lovely little cherubs. A few days ago, Lillian and I both started singing a song together only to have both children command us to stop. And we did stop, for the interlude, and we started back again with the chorus, not missing a beat, bolder and louder than before.