Once upon a time, a million years ago, in another lifetime, The Mama was a singer. Not a famous one, though someone did tell me a few weeks ago that I look like Carly Rae Jepsen.
I confess, I resorted to Google Images to make my own assessment. I am that lame. Don’t get me wrong, I have no way of not knowing that brainworm of a song, I had just never seen the person behind the noise. (Confidential to CRJ: I’m sure you are really nice. I just can’t handle anything that catchy.)
As I was
about to get round to saying, way back when, The Mama had a passable mezzo-soprano. No one ever paid me to use it (except for that church choir…), but it was precisely “not bad” enough to get me cast in small roles at my local university. No, I’m not being humble. Tiny roles. Think Third Boy.
As a result of this once-upon-a-time-a-billion-years-ago-I-didn’t-make-ears-bleed voice, I like to mix up my lullaby repertoire. I’m not saying I don’t sing a whole lot of Baa Baa Black Sheep, because I do. I really, really do. I simply like to use my Mama-given chords as they were meant to be used.
I can’t thank god when my Mama’s got the chops she has. I know where this voice of mine came from. Can I get an Amen?
So one evening, I sang two pretty little art songs to The Kidling after I tucked her in. She listened intently. I finished. We chatted.
“I’m kind of jealous of something,” she said.
“I’m jealous you have a beautifuler voice than me,” she continued.
“Sweetie, it’s just different,” I assured her.
Not to be dissuaded, she insisted, “Yours is more beautifuler.”
“Well, it’s older,” I explained. “You know how our bodies grow up? It’s not just the outsides of our bodies that grow up: it’s the insides, too. Your voice will mature and then you’ll probably sound a lot like Mommy.”
She nodded in understanding, “And my nipples will get big, too?”
Choking back a giggle, The Mama replied, “Yes.”
“So they can hold milk?”
And with that little twist, I kissed The Kidling goodnight and promptly ran downstairs to share our conversation with The Dada.