Yesterday’s day began much like the others…too early after not enough sleep, good morning song, nappy change, walk on the balcony to say hello to the world, coffee made, breakfast thrown about the kitchen Pro Hart style, a rock around the living room to some Playschool hits, a few other made up songs, a fair bit of whinging from Miss Q who just seriously wants to get on with the business of walking, a spot of washing, washing up, tidying, blah blah blah…and then an unexpected morning nap from Miss Q (who has a runny nose which I suspect is the reason) which left me with two hands to read the Sun Herald and discover that I am, in fact, doing a stellar job of bonding with my child.
I doubt it’s going to rock your world to learn this, but the Herald reports that ‘singing in the first year of life builds the mother-infant bond, which is the foundation to a child’s development.’
Based on that, Q should be able to do triple jump, recite the dictionary backwards and intone a Gregorian chant.
Because the poor kid has been sung to - incessantly - since the day she was conceived.
Apparently it doesn’t matter what you sing or how badly you do it, all that matters is that you do it with feeling.
But what feeling?
Does that matter?
Because when I sing the chart topping ‘please stop your whinging I want to poke myself in the eye’ song, I do it with feeling.
With sincere feeling.
And much enthusiasm and gusto, because I absolutely mean every word.
Ditto the hits
‘Take a break from life and I’ll see you in an hour’
‘I love you, oh yes I do I love you so’ (a simple melody on repeat. It seems to calm her when nothing else does - calms me too for that matter. But I bet a glass of wine would work just as well.)
‘Nobody likes a whinger, you won’t have any friends’
‘Who’s that little girl in the mirror?’ (she’s a bit of a narcissist)
And the recently exhausted
‘It’s a beautiful day in the sunshine’.
Miss Q has had her life narrated to her in song every day of her existence. Which – according to the study – should mean our bond is ironclad.
It’s nice to get a bit of a mothering boost every now and again.
Sure makes up for the time Q was relishing in being rudee-nudee and another mother told me to be careful, ‘refusing clothes is one of the first signs of autism.’
At least I’d be sure we’d have bonded.