It was another day alone with Baby and yet another morning where I was roused from sleep by an unhappy wail of a baby that has no way of knowing he will be fed again, ever—and I have no way of assuring him that he would. “Feed me now or else!” he yowls in baby language while desperately kicking an imaginary enemy in his bassinet, so I sleepily tumble out of bed.
Then I put on age-inappropriate 70s-80s songs and carried him as I danced into the kitchen to warm up his breakfast. “Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight!” I sing along with ABBA as I waltzed into the kitchen. “You’re taking me… to the point of no return, ow ow ow,” I barked at him like a sea lion just like Exposé did, as I sidled out of the kitchen with a bottle. He then had to listen to me sing with Tiffany as she goes, “I think we’re alone now… there doesn’t seem to be anyone around,” while being burped. Throughout the whole time the music was on he was silent, possibly too appalled at his mother’s behaviour to speak.
茉莉花の独り言 