A League Of Her Own
I’ve come up with a new bedtime song for Ngnat, one that’s descended from the “Who?s daddy?s pretty girl?” school of musical thought. Most of the songs I sing to her are made up on the spot, and don’t have much of a life span longer than it takes to sing them for the first time. Some last a week or two, like the tune I sang to her when she first moved to the two year olds classroom. She was the youngest, and there’s lots of biters at that age, so each morning’s parting had its full share of tears and recriminations.
I eventually discovered that letting her pick a toy to take with her each day prevented the majority of the tears. Getting her to look forward to the day was the rest of the battle, and that was taken care of when new words to “Ta ra ra boom de ay” bubbled up to the surface one morning.
We’re…..going….. to….school today!
and you will run and play.
You’ll laugh the day away!
Hurray for school, hurray!
As long as Ngnat had her toy, and I carried her and sang that tune over and over again, all the way from the car, down the steps and to the two year old’s room, she was happy.
Byebye dadee! huway!
Eventually she decided she didn’t need her toy of the day, and instead of being carried she started running to the church door to open it herself. She only gives me her hand to walk down the stairs now because I insist. Such a big girl, and big girls don’t need to be sung to in order to go to day care.
Big girl she may be, but big girl independence vanishes once storytime is over and bedtime is nigh.
“Don’t ever leave me, mommy.” she told her mother last night, which immediately translated into another ten minutes of cuddle time before the Sainted Wife left her.
It also translated into a couple hours of the Sainted Wife worrying about dying in childbirth and abandoning her baby to the care of a man who lets her put on orange socks whenever she wants. I’m positive the Sainted Wife thinks that she is the only thing standing between Ngnat and Marla Hoochdom. For all I know, she’s right, though it’s much more likely that I would raise a geek than a baseball player. I’ll be happy no matter what, as long as I can get her through the teen years without the world ripping out her confidence. I’ll build her defenses as high as I can before middle school and the years just after start to tear them down, and hope for the best.
Every night, just before I kiss her good night, I lay another brick. No real tune to it, though the last two lines are to the chorus of “Waltzing Matilda”
Who’s Daddy’s pretty girl? My Ngnat is.
Who’s Daddy’s funny girl? My Ngnat is.
Who’s Daddy’s smartest girl? My Ngnat is.
Who’s Daddy’s bravest girl? My Ngnat is.
My Ngnat is pretty, My Ngnat is strong,
My Ngnat has a special Daddy song
And he sings it to her when she lies down to sleep at night.
My Ngnat’s special nighttime daddy song.
I recorded it, just to see what it sounds like, and my God is it ever horrible. Beauty must lie in the ear of the beholder though, because for now Ngnat insists on it every night. It’ll be gone soon enough, to be replaced by something else, until she’s big enough to wish Daddy would keep his mouth shut.