You know one little habit I have that’s just a touch annoying? I tend to change the lyrics of songs and sing them to whatever I’m doing. I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s annoying. Because, you know, it annoys me and all.
Still, I come by it honestly, if not absentmindedly, as (most) every occurrence is unintentional. And since I have four-year-old triplets and a baby, that means I often catch myself singing made-up lyrics pertaining to them. And in so doing, I’ve decided that pop stars are missing out on a goldmine of inspiration. They really should start mining the little ones for their material.
If they did — it might sound a little like this:
Though it’s filled with infinite joy, raising babies, I think we’d all agree, is no laughing matter. So if LMFAO wrote a song about taking care of your little one, it might go a little like this:
When I crawl in the den
This is what I see.
Everybody stops and they lookin’ at me.
Cuz there’s crap upon my pants and my parents finally know it, know it, know it.
I’m vexing and I know it.
Carly Rae Jepsen
Ah, Carly Rae Jepsen. You’ll forgive us if we can’t call you right this very minute, right? I mean, we’re kinda busy, as the lyrics below would indicate.
Hey, I just changed you, and this is crazy.
Y’just pooped again, you doggone baby.
But it’s not always the diapers we’re dealing with. Sometimes it’s those little plastic potties. And for those of you going through the throes of potty training, you might like the song I used to sing to the triplets whenever pushed back on our potty-training efforts:
Listen to your dad, it’s time for you to use the potty.
I’m the Potty Nazi.
Starships might be meant to fly, but there are any number of things that our baby regularly launches into the air that are not.
You’re on the flo-oor, flo-oor
What’s in your hands?
Crawl toward the do-oor, do-oor,
Stay put, young man.
Can’t take no mo-ore, mo-ore.
You throw, it lands.
How’d it not bray-eak, bray-eak. Don’t understand.
That Plate’s not meant to fly!
So no touch – wait please don’t cry.
Take this, my little guy.
Plastic. Give it a try.
So Katy’s written about her Friday nights, right? Here’s what would happen if our baby wrote about his:
Last Friday Night
Ate some cut-up tater tots
Which I threw up on the spot
It contained a little snot.
Last Friday night
Crawled around in the back yard
Picked up dog doo that was hard
So I threw it at your car
This Friday night
Do it all again.
Do it all again? You bet we will. Over and over and over. No complaints, though. It’s a good life.
Do you make up songs when tending to your little ones?