Motherhood

I get it. Now I get why my mother rolled through every one of her siblings’ names when she tried to call me home for dinner. I get where THE LOOK came from - one that's a combination of film-noire asylum escapee and long suffering Benedictine nun - It appears on my sister’s face when her kids lovingly hang on her on a hot July day.
I get it because a short while ago I too joined their cult-the Mommy League. I’m still a pledge in this sorority; however, due to the fact I don’t yet know the songs, among other things I've yet to learn. I knew motherhood would bring changes. I've read the books. Even the honest and humorously poignant Girlfriend's Guide… collection. I laughed out loud while reading it, in fact. Half out of fear, though, came that chuckle. I'm an intelligent woman, after all. I knew that mommyhood would change my life in ways I hadn't prepared for. But, it occurred to me that I was, indeed, woefully unprepared when, to soothe my screeching newborn at 3:54 a.m. I sang this little ditty to the tune of “Three Blind Mice.”
Whatsa matta you
Whatsa matta you
Mommy tried to read you a book today
But baby got angry and cried away
Whtasa matta you
Whatsa matta you

While it worked better than a softly hummed lullaby and garnered me a smile, the sheer inappropriateness of it hit home the next day. My husband’s face registered shock and horror when I sang my inspired lyrics once again. I guess the fact that he had eight hours of sleep makes him more of a connoisseur of fine infant songs than I. But, for the record, he couldn't remember a single lullaby from his childhood either.
Intellectually speaking, I know that not being able to sing a proper lullaby to my child doesn't necessarily mean I'm a bad mother, it does mean that I probably will be shot a few reproving looks at the local Gymboree class. I think too, that maybe I shouldn't go to these classes as I'm no longer that shocked at myself. My child is coming right along with the ages and stages so how bad a mom can I be? My mother didn't even sing to me in English and look how I turned out (the lapse of motherly characteristics aside).
Now-months later as tempting as it is to put in that Raffi CD, amazingly my Whatsa Matta song still works best. I still am amazed what I can come up with in tight quarters, (na nah na na na na my angel is a center-oops). I start singing these songs I used to bop around to in my none motherhood days only to realize, you can't put that into a newborn baby boy's head. What am I doing to him? So I've learned a few lullabies and we love them together. My child now laughs at me. He actually senses when mommy says something she shouldn't. I fully expect his first words to be "Welcome to the Jungle-mama."
Ah me. Ah motherhood. Although I’ve joined their ranks, I remain my quirky self. (Tune in 12 years from now when this manifests itself to the complete embarrassment of my teenager.)