It’s a Girl

A librarian came to our parenting class one recent Friday afternoon to talk about reading to your child, er, infant. She held up copies of the popular Tana Hoban black-and-white books, reminding us that little babies supposedly prefer to look at high-contrast, black-and-white images.

Um, sure. If we’re lucky, we can get Delphine to stare at her black-and-white mobile or her black-and-white art cards (both hand-me-downs from pals Ali and Alexandra) for, at most, about seven minutes. Then it’s back to gazing off dreamily into space or — joy! — focusing on us.

That’s OK, said the library lady. Because guess what? You can READ to your baby instead!

Except that the only time D. is awake, of course, is when she’s nursing, and it’s a little tricky trying to maneuver, say, a book of rhymes while trying to hold the baby at the same time. (This is why they say you need, like Shiva, at least three and preferably four arms to take care of a baby.)

Perhaps we should play music while the baby nurses, you suggest? Well, one of our baby books — What To Expect: The First Year — echoes that sentiment. But the book’s take is the old Baby Einstein schtick: Foisting classical music on a tot will make her a genius.

Infancy is also an ideal time to start exposing your child to classical music (play it softly during playtime in the crib, or during dinner or bath time), although many babies seem to prefer the livelier rhythms of rock, pop, or country music.

I call this magical thinking. Music is music, and no single genre is going to make your kid smarter, happier, or more interested in music as a career. Sometimes I find myself humming Beethoven 6 to the baby; other times it’s yet another round of “Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, merry merry king of the woods is he . . .”

Most often, however, Delphine’s chief form of musical entertainment is our silly reworkings of pop songs, generally Top 40 hits from the 1980s and earlier. (This dates us sadly, alas.) At times, the house can sound like a live version of Kiss This Guy, an online archive of misheard lyrics, or Hit Me With Your Pet Shark, a new book on the same topic. (For the confused, the former refers to the Jimi Hendrix line “Excuse me while I kiss the sky,” and the latter to the Pat Benatar song “Hit Me With Your Best Shot.”)

Embarrassing examples include:

“Dream Weaver” = Dream feeder
“Get Up, Stand Up” = Get up, spit up; spit up all your lunch
“Baby Got Back” = I like big boobs and I cannot lie
“These Boots Were Made For Walking” = These boobs were made for sucking
“The Lady Is A Tramp” = The baby is a champ
“Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” = Gunk gets in your eyes
“The Hotstepper” = Here comes the hotspitter
“Keep On Movin’” = Keep on snoozin’
“Scrubs” = I don’t want no chubs
The Flash Gordon theme song = Snack! or Bath!
The Shaft theme song = Who’s the little baby chick who’s the snack machine with all the tricks?

Of course, the little ditties we make up just for Delphine are those we like the best. Here’s one I sing to her when she’s quiet, just looking out the window, her head on my shoulder:

Mon enfant
Delphine
Je t’adore

Mon bébé
Delphine
Mon amour