My singing voice is atrocious. Out of consideration for others, I like to avoid using it, and I’m okay with that. Other than my brief fascination with punk rock in the ’90’s, I’ve never really considered myself a musical person. BUT, when my baby wouldn’t stop crying the other night, I felt a bizarre and unyielding urge to sing a lullaby.
He had been fed and changed and bounced, so I decided to stop fighting the urge, and sing. I sang:
“Hush little baby don’t say a word,
mamma’s gonna buy you a mocking bird.
And if that mocking bird don’t sing,
mamma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring don’t shine….”
I sang that lullaby with all my might.
Then the husband entered the room and suggested I stop singing that to him. Immediately, my defenses went up. I thought:
How DARE he suggest I stop singing. I am experiencing a motherly moment, here. Henry doesn’t care if my singing voice rivals the sound of a donkey on crack.
Before I could open my mouth to say anything, the husband continued:
“I think he would sleep better if he knew you weren’t wasting your efforts on buying faulty items and defective mocking birds.”