Singing

Lately, there've been a lot of babies on my mind.  Two of my cousins had babies in the last few days.  One of my friends is very pregnant with her 5th baby.  I have a baby who is still little and whose sweet antics are the delight of my day.

She's been singing and dancing to herself in recent days.  This is something I adore:  all of mine have done it.  Believe it or not, Foo Foo used to sing joyfully.  I guess he still does, but it's usually in a falcetto with a lisp.  I don't know what that affectation is about, but okay.  It makes me smile.

Doodle used to sing in the tub at the top of his lungs.  Even now he whistles, sings liturgical settings on the swings and makes up lyrics to annoy Foo Foo.

Beatle doesn't sing and dance as much as the others, but occasionally I'll catch her softly singing under her breath.

The baby, though, rocks and sways and murmurs . . . it's wonderful.  I'm mesmerized.  I try not to interrupt, but sometimes I'm overwhelmed with a desire to squeeze and kiss her.  I love her singing.