A Baby Day

Some days are Baby Days. Others are I-hate-being-pregnant-I'm-so-sick-and-tired-of-being-sick-and-tired-all-the-time days.

And while I am both sick and tired, today, it seems, is a Baby Day. My head is all things Baby. Look at that baby on the subway falling asleep! Look online--ooh, bottles that mimic nipples! Look on Glarkware for funny baby clothes! Look intently at belly in the mirror in the bathroom searching for evidence of baby, and desperately hope nobody opens the door to see you....

Yeah, see, the trouble with Baby Days is you have all this excess baby energy, and nowhere for it to go. (Besides placenta-building, I guess). I am an active, fix it-type person. This relatively passive baby-creation is kind of hard on me sometimes.

So I did what I do when I can't think what to do for somebody--I made my baby a mix.

I got, as usual, a little carried away. The intention, at the beginning, was to find some cool songs that I should really learn all the (actual) words to, so I can sing them to Roo. I fixated on Iron & Wine's Flightless Bird, American Mouth, and for cheerier moments, Feist's 1234.

But somehow I have many more songs on here.

I have The Rising, and The Wrestler, because Roo can't be without Springsteen--I mean really. And there are nothing like songs about one-armed and one-legged men to soothe babies. And I did manage to find a British Sea Power song that probably wouldn't necessarily wake the baby; Like A Honeycomb sounds sweet and gentle, right? It doesn't matter that it's about beheaded lovers and separated bones.

I have Bon Iver's Beach Baby because dammit, that's what I plan to have. And Finley Quaye's Even After All because it sounds like he's singing underwater--that ought to mimic being in the womb. And The Supremes' Baby Love because I find myself singing it, but I know it from back when I was did a Supremes Medley thing in high school, so I keep switching into You Can't Hurry Love without meaning to.

I put some Tom Waits and (gentle) Mark Lanegan on there, because their voices are both pitched much lower than either Dave or I can manage (I swear, Mark Lanegan is pitched lower than I can even hear), and Quiet Heart by The Go-Betweens because I'm an optimistic person.

And, um, lots more.

I recognize that this mix will totally be soothing to ME, and really do nothing at all for the baby. But somehow I still feel like I accomplished something. Maybe another neuron or skin cell or something grew while I was scanning through my iPod. Whatever.