A lullaby for my infant son
There are reasons that my literary output has been down lately; it’s because I’ve been focusing my creative powers in the biological realm. There is some possibility of crossover, however, as my new little muse has inspired this lullaby for the time of day which the Spanish refer to as la madrugada.
Babies aren’t cute at 2 in the morning.
This isn’t a song; this is a warning.
Close your stupid little eyes,
Stop your stupid little cries,
Pay attention, my sweet small fry
While Mama sings a lullaby.
Babies aren’t cute at 3 in the morning.
This isn’t a song; this is a warning.
Though your cries may conflict me
No judge or jury would convict me
If I left you in the park
For the hyenas in the dark.
Babies aren’t cute at 4 in the morning.
This isn’t a song; this is a warning.
The hyenas will hear you wail.
The hyenas will find you without fail.
They’ll sit and laugh at you,
Because hyenas are stupid, too.
Babies aren’t cute at 5 in the morning.
This isn’t a song; this is a warning.
Close your stupid little eyes,
Stop your stupid little cries,
Pay attention, my sweet small fry
While Mama sings a lullaby.
Perhaps there will be more lullabies in the future – I understand there will be more sleep regressions and fussy periods. If I can’t think of another lullaby I can always sing the one my mother says she sang to me: The Hostile Baby Rocking Song by Rosalie Sorrels. I suppose every parent must develop their own midnight lullaby variants.
Like many of you, I spent a good chunk of time with family for the Thanksgiving holiday. We gathered at my granny’s house (crossing over the river and through the woods, of course) this year in New Mexico.