I’ve got a 4 month post coming because I think it is time to stop counting in weeks. But one last time. He’s 17 weeks and he is so big and so changed and so different and utterly adorable. In the rare moments when he does stop feeding, what he likes more than anything is to stare into my eyes and sing along while I since to him. And this is his absolute favourite. Yellow bird, taught to me by my mum, though I only know the first verse. Listen to my ‘Yellow Bird’ on Audioboo. Don’t mock. I’m terrified of hearing myself recorded.
He is gorgeous as the photos amply show, but the point of the post isn’t to gloat about him, or show off my dubious singing voice. It’s not even to remind me of the pleasure of baby gurgles or lullabying off a small person on your shoulder.
It’s to remind me that singing a snippet of a song to him meant that we learned about Haiti and steel drums and Loony Tunes cartoons and harmony sung by trios of men and hunted down whether it was a slave song or not and discussed freedom and syncopation and counted the beats in the bar and had an impromptu YouTube safety talk. All from sat on my bed with an iPad and a snippet of song from my childhood.
And I really must learn the second verse.