1. The bathroom mirror. As pleased to see you as it ever was.
2. Your partner. (Unless she is depressed and locked in her room crying, or the two of you are only communicating through solicitors, in which case it's back to the mirror.)
 |
| Singing Nursery Rhymes With Babies |
3. Grandparents. The only people in the world who are even 50 per cent as interested in your baby as you and your partner are. Grandmothers like stories about how adorable your baby is, while grandfathers usually prefer empirical evidence of superior physical prowess. (For every Competitive Dad, there may be up to two Competitive Granddads.)
4. Other people who had babies at around the same time as you. The window for this is surprisingly narrow. Anyone with a baby four months older or four months younger might as well be on a different planet. Ideal are people whose baby is virtually the same age but much uglier than yours. By a remarkable coincidence, this is probably the same way they see you.
It should come as no surprise, then, if your social circle shrinks a little in the months following the birth. After years of knocking about together, my friend knew we would not be knocking about together in the same way. And he was right, although we remain good friends. We have different lives now: his, much the same as it ever was, and mine, which involves going to bed roughly four hours before he does every night, and usually only to sleep.
Friendships that can overcome the Venn diagram are worth fostering. Competitive Dad and Baby Bore threaten all friendships, and nearly all dealings with the outside world. Back in your box now, both of you. Lock it tight. And goodnight.
Vinegar & Brown Paper
They could be the deepest, darkest, most skilfully buried childhood memories of all ...
Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full. One for the master, one for the dame, and one for the little boy who lives down the lane.
Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky, twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are.
Rock-a-bye baby on the tree top. When the wind blows the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, and down will come baby, cradle and all.
Three blind mice, three blind mice, see how they run, see how they run. They all ran away from the farmer's wife, who cut off their tails with a carving knife. Did you ever see such a thing in your life as three blind mice?
Well, no, is the simple answer to that. Poor mice. It's not even as though they were partially sighted. Now they are tailless as well as blind, with nasty suppurating wounds that require immediate medical attention. Meanwhile the farmer's wife chuckles evilly to herself. Who needs a cat?
You will ask yourself these questions and many others when you start singing your little one to sleep. Most nursery rhymes are either inane or fantastically violent. Many are both. Things you wouldn't want to see on TV, let alone in real life, are standard behavior in the moral vacuum of nursery rhymes. And yet these are the sweet little tunes your baby will want hear again and again.
I figure I have sung Rock-A-Bye Baby 3,000 times in the past five years, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star more than 2,500 times. I know this because I was working it out in my head last night while singing Rock-A-Bye for the ninth or tenth time as the small boy finally drifted off. Add 1,500 Baa Baa Black Sheeps, 750 The Wheels On The Bus Go Round And Rounds and uncountable, edging-in-the-direction-of-