When it come to songs I seem to be losing the ability to think for myself – and have instead become a human jukebox.
Well at least that is what my little boy thinks after giving me yet another request to sing him a song.
Not that I mind. I’ve been singing to him since he was a baby and he absolutely loves it.
I’ve also taken him to little ones’ singing groups which has cemented his love of singing, increased his vocabulary and expanded my knowledge of children’s songs beyond Baa Baa Black Sheep and I’m a Little Teapot.
And the really adorable thing is my son has started singing to his little sister most days, either in the car to entertain her (whether she is awake or not) and to soothe her when she is crying.
The problem is now he very much has his favourites and he asks me to sing them with him or to him over and over again.
So needless to say the requests for Wind the Bobbin Up and Twinkle Twinkle come daily, while some of my favourites have fallen by the wayside.
But now the requests have changed from particular songs to individual parts of various songs.
Individual verses, the chorus or certain portions of a song are requested with enthusiasm, usually followed by an ‘again mummy’ – just to make sure I am pulling my weight on the entertainment front.
My suggestions for different songs are usually met with a flat ‘no’, and if I try to take any shortcuts he is quick off the mark to tell me so.
Apparently singing only two verses of Wheels on the Bus is just not enough.
And should I get any of the words wrong, well...
The problem with having a little boy requesting what he wants is I seem to have forgotten how to think of songs for myself.
So when I’m sitting with my little girl, I find myself staring at her like an obedient robot, awaiting instructions for which song she would like.
Needless to say at six weeks old she is a little silent on the subject!
** An open invitation for embarrassment
I love watching Channel 4’s Embarrassing Bodies but I really don’t understand some of the people on there.
Some have been to their GPs without success so are looking for a second opinion, which is fair enough.
But it is the ones who won’t visit their own doctor but will instead bare all on national TV who leave me puzzled.
Does the magic of television really make it less embarrassing for some people?