Skip to main content

Ooo Baby Baby

It sounded oddly familiar, the song she was singing this morning while eating her eggs. I'm listening...."I played with your heart...got lost in the game...Ooo baby baby..."

And then it smacked me across the face like a fettering diaper.

I demanded to know: "Where did you hear that???"

I found out she and her friend Tadpole went to the Barbie Web site, and heard it there. Many times. Enough to memorize it. So they can also, it seems, sing it at lunch.

So glad that within the fairly carefully culled confines of our lives, my 5-year-old daughter found the worm hole to Britney Spears.

Comments

sarah said…
I love that you label this "leaking brains".

I think my parents probably shuddered the same shudder when I wandered through the house singing, "Like a Virgin"....

trollop-y pop-stars are always scary.
ruthibel said…
LOL@sarah... every father's nightmare.

*sigh* the evils of living in a technological age.

*bigger sigh* the realisation that your babies wont be babies forever, cept in your mind... *SIGH*

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...