I like to sing. In the shower, to the steering wheel, at karaoke, in the middle of the day dueting George Michael with a coworker — it matters not.
It should come as no surprise that when I “met” the bestie’s baby (do you meet babies, really?) on Friday, I sang to him. A lot. It’s cool because he didn’t care. He didn’t try to sing over me like a showoff or interrupt me because I was annoying him. (This, in part, is why I heavily recommend singing to 3 1/2-month-olds.)
Then, after I started singing in my “I am singing to a baby” voice, I realized WHAT exactly I was singing: Jeremih featuring 50 Cent, “Down on Me.” Yes … I was singing a song about oral sex to a baby.
“OMG, I’m so sorry!” I told the mama when I realized. She laughed and said it was fine, that Daddy regularly sings Cee Lo to lil William.
I tried to move on from “Down on Me,” but for some reason, went straight to Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab.” Finally a commercial came on with Huey Lewis, and I switched to “Do You Believe in Love?” Thank you, appropriateness.
I gotta ask the moms out there: Do you sing to your kids? Do you find yourself singing slightly, erm, inappropriate songs to them? Granted, I went straight to the dirty songs (if you know me, this isn’t terribly surprising) but even if you started with Colbie Calliat and *NSYNC, I bet you’d be hankerin’ for some 50 eventually.
It’s cool, they do it on “Friends,” too. “I am a terrible father … Please don’t take her away from me.”
On a slightly related note: When my brother (who — for those of you who are new to Snap, Crackle, Pop — is autistic) was learning to write, Mom would give him words, spelling them out for him. He’d copy them out, line after line, page after page.
During this time, I was in high school and early college. I’d offer to take over the dictating and spelling duties, and after about a dozen or two words, I got bored. So I spelled for him words like l-e-s-b-i-a-n and p-e-n-i-s and b-o-o-b-i-e-s. Hell, he didn’t know.
And it was always a treat when, 10 seconds or 10 minutes or an hour later, Mom would see Joey’s paper.