Having a baby means I’ve started making up songs about everything. At changing time I sing a song to the tune of “Let’s All Go to the Lobby” that goes,, “Let’s go check your diaper, let’s go check your diaper, let’s go check your diiii-aper….. and see if there’s some poop.”
I sing a song when she’s cranky that goes “it’s time for wrap time nap time, nap time in the wrap. It’s wrap time nap time, when you feel like crap.” I also sing about her current favorite page of her current favorite Dr. Suess book, Circus McGirkus. The page depicts a creature called the “drum-tummied Snumm” so I sing to the tune of “Chim Chim Cher-ee” something like this: “drum-tummy-tum, drum-tummy-tum, drum-tum-ta-roo. You love drum-tummied Snumm, and he loves you.” That song has a lot of ever-changing verses and usually includes me playing the drums (gently) on my baby’s belly.
My husband and my favorite song (or at least the one that gets stuck in our heads the most) is the song I made up for “tummy time.” It goes, predictably, “tummy time, tummy time, tummy time for baby. Tummy time! Tummy time! Tummy time. Tummy time! Tummy time!”
My brother and his fiancé visited over the weekend, and I’m pretty sure the tummy time song got stuck in their heads, too, especially because we were singing about everything to the tune of it: “Picture time, picture time, pictures with Uncle Deven. Look so cute! Look so cute! Look so cute. Look so cute! Look so cute!” You get the idea.
I’m sorry to say that my husband and I proved to be like every other set of annoying new parents in that we found it hard to talk to Deven and Lauren about anything other than baby stuff. Oh sure, we asked them about their wedding plans, and we had a few non-baby-related conversations. But we also insisted on showing them our stroller and describing the baby’s sleep habits. We talked to them ad nauseum about the baby’s bodily functions. (Literally ad nauseum…when we described using the Nose Frida snot-sucker during breakfast, Lauren started gagging.)
I’ve been worried about this. I love my baby, but I don’t want to be one of those people who only talks about her kid. That’s why I’ve given myself a goal: at least once a week I will leave the baby at home with Daddy and have myself some adult time. I’ve been successful at this for the past three weeks. The first two times I went out for drinks with friends, and last week I went to my first real yoga class since giving birth.
I’m also slowly finding time between the feedings and the diaper changes to work on writing. I sent in an application for a Work in Progress grant from SCBWI, and I’ve been revising my current manuscript. But one thing I haven’t done in a long time is write any new fiction. I feel I don’t have the time, energy, or brainpower for that. But I also wonder if, as time goes on and I have more time and energy, I’m going to continue to use the baby as an excuse for why I’m not writing anything new.
There’s this fear that creeps in on me sometimes, that I am losing my ability to be creative. When I look back at stories I wrote in my early twenties, I’m somewhat in awe. Not of the story structure or writing itself, but of the uninhibited creativity of my ideas. How did I come up with that? Was I more creative back then? I know I’m a better writer now, but I worry that my ideas and inspirations are not as free-flowing. I worry that the realities and responsibilities of being an adult, and now a parent, have sent the creative muses looking for someone else — someone with more time and energy and brainpower.
That’s why these stupid little songs I’ve been singing are, in a way, comforting. Coming up with silly rhymes and funny phrases isn’t the same as composing a poem or writing a fictional scene, but it’s still being creative with words, isn’t it?
And maybe, as the baby starts to nap more regularly and I have a little time to myself, the muses will hear me singing “Tummy Time” and decide to pay me a visit.