Sing Out!

Being pregnant has involved the acceptance of so many hormonal and physical changes. More curious than painful, their sheer number can be disorienting. The skin on my face has lost its elasticity; I've gained a shoe size (they say your feet never shrink back to their original dainty dimensions); I can't remember what I'm supposed to be doing; I'm warm all the time. There is, of course, a large growth on the front of me which hiccups periodically; the other day it slugged me so hard I gasped. These changes are things I work on accepting; they can't be avoided, they are common to all mothers, and putting up with them seems the only option.

There is something though, which makes me very happy, which is completely unexpected, and which I find mentioned nowhere online or in the baby books: I can now sing.

In order to understand the magnitude of this development, you would have had to hear my vocalizations before. And trust me, you don't want that. I sounded terrible. I knew it, and so did anyone within earshot.

There has been only one other person I've heard acquiring this skill upon motherhood, and that's my own mother. I always thought that the unselfconscious presence of an infant me freed her to express herself. But I don't even have a baby yet. I'm just as nervous as ever. And still...I can sing.

Today I sat next to Bun as he drove his sister's minivan around Portland. In the back were an increasingly tired and fussy little niece and nephew, and a saintly aunt. The kids were getting whiny: the seven-year-old was regressing, and the two-year-old was behaving in an age-appropriate manner, which is to say, insisting on the impossible.

"We can't go inside if you don't put on your shoes," Bun told the two-year-old.

"He doesn't understand logic," I informed Bun.

The clamor rolled on. A toy hit the floor.

And then, from out of my mouth, there came a song. I don't know why it was "Kelly the Boy from Killanne", but my voice was a beautiful free thing. The kids quieted down, and were civilized for the next five minutes.

The songs I like lately are mostly completely inappropriate. Do you really want your little child to idolize the highwaymen of "Wild Colonial Boy" or "Whiskey in the Jar"? Should he emulate the wife-stealing antics of the "Gypsy Rover"? Problem is, they're just so catchy. They've been honed on a few centuries of roguishness and drink, polished till they're more insidious than any advertising jingle.

That kind of looks like fun, doesn't it?

I promise myself I will avoid the songs that involve sporting and rolling around with lassies--the manly-boasting songs that really are a bit much, period charm or no. Likewise will I eschew the sad laments of young women rejected by their families in the aftermath of said antics, who roam the world destitute and dishonored--early pro-abstinence education from a world where one unfortunate moment could lead to a lifetime of sadness.

Delightfully, all my favorite lyrics can be found online, in the great storehouse of the web. Wandering the electronic byways today, I found this impish parody to share. It is probably not appropriate for the baby, but most people over age seven will enjoy it. It turns "Amazing Grace" into a series of truly unfortunate events:

(found online in the modern bardish Book of Song.)

A Grazing Mace

A grazing Mace! How sweet the sound
it is a friend to me.
I once swords crossed, but now Ive found
Its a grazing mace for me.

My sword it could, but hack and slash
and slay a foe or three
but with my mace I crush and smash
its a grazing mace for me

I swung it once I swung it twice
his sword it went sniker-snee
but then my mace, it found its mark
he now has but one knee

my mace it opens doors for me
it clears my path to eat.
It finds its way into men's hearts
and lays them at my feet

A grazing Mace! How sweet the sound
it is a friend to me.
I once swords crossed, but now Ive found
Its a grazing mace for me.

***To the tune of... aw, forget it***
Norseland Songbook Project
Fall Thyng, 1988