Since our daring J.B. was born, I've realized just how few words of songs I know. On top of that, most of the children's songs I do know just aren't all that nice.

Think about it. I could sing about that insane back-to-nature forest family that suspends their baby from a rickety tree limb. Or the animal-abuse family that bakes live black birds into a pie. Or I could sing to her about the Plague in that "Pocket Full of Posies" song. No, sir.

So I go that anthem of capitalism, the "Mockingbird Song," but I get through the first phrase and blank on all the rest of the words. So I stand there, as my wife gets her nightly four minutes of sleep, rocking my baby, hoping to soothe her some time before 4am, babbling an endless loop of la-la-las.

Of course, with a screaming magenta child in my arms, I'm in no position to go online or to leaf through liner notes.

I envision her adulthood. I don't want her to be the laughing stock of her friends. Will she grow up thinking there's only one verse to "Country Roads" or "Day Dream Believer" or that Lionel Richie classic "Hello"?

Or will I become a joke-as she recounts the story of her father's lack of lyrics in a personal essay in some horrible Freshman English class. No way.

The good news is: J.B. cannot yet speak English or any of the 9 languages we will begin to teach her when she starts her Montessori pre-pre-school in the fall.

So I improvise:

Good night, little J.B..I hope you sleep soon. This one handed typing is very tricky.

Be the Paul

Being Paul Reiser may be easy enough online, but it's another story when I'm trying to pull it off in front of my wife.
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