Last night as I did the stand and sway, nursing my little cherub to sleep- which is getting more difficult by the day, they grow so fast – The Boss reached a up a sweet chubby little hand, placed in on my cheek and said “Baby Mine”.
One more round of Baby Mine on the house little one! As his eyes fluttered, fighting sleep, he popped off blinked his big blue eyes at me and said:
Bow chicka bow wow!
Um. Excuse me? I asked, what did you say?
Bow chicka bow woooooooow, Mommy!
I kissed his goose egged forehead and went downstairs hoping and praying that my mother in law and sister in law, who both were cheerleaders had taught him the Booma Chicka Boom cheer. Nope. Neither one had, although they vowed to do so.
Next up I cornered the men in the fam…the likeliest suspects, non? Who on earth, said I, has been exposing my child to porn, or at the very least terrible cheesy porn-like music?!
Shakespeare really should have written “Hell hath no fury like a mother who thinks someone has shown her baby something innapropriate”. Although, that doesn’t have quite as good a ring to it.
The boys faces quickly paled and both denied any such thing, of course. They never would do such a thing. (for real, they NEVER would do something. This child is so very loved and protected, I always say to him that I wish all babies in the world were as loved as he is) I may have been a little, how you say, irrational? And craving chocolate like a crack whore craves crack. You get the point. The menfolk both wracked their brains to figure out where The Boss could have learned such a musical phrase!
Aha! Cried TOTT. The Motown documentary they watched several days ago! The Boss had loved the section where they laid down the tracks one by one and the bassist vocalized his line along with playing.
Boom. Chicka. Bow. Wow.
They had replayed it several times for him. Cause he’s The Boss.
My child, not exposed to porn at all, just a run of the mill musical genius.