I’m on another can’t-stop-the-damn-song train. I’ll have a song in my head and it wrecks havoc on my life. It plays like a sound track in my dreams – except that it’s just one song over and over again. And, there’s an extra bit of crazy I throw in to whatever song is on constant repeat – I purposely mix up words and add in new lyrics. I know, how crazy am I? (Stand back, friends, obviously I trump any of your wild antics). One summer I had the song “Daydream Believer” in my head, and every time I got to the chorus I would think “cheer up, Sneaky Dees.” (um, yes. That’s a bit of a shout out to my university, Kensington Market days when my best friend and I had to have an apartment that was in “stumbling distance” of a certain Toronto watering hole). All of this to say I do this to MYSELF and it drives me bananas.
The song of the day now is Feist’s “I Feel It All.” But yet I can’t stop singing “I feel the boy, I feel the boy” everytime. And that is solely because I am convinced that this alien inside me is a boy. It feels boy. It moves boy. It makes me think boy.
It’s a boy, right?
Maybe it’s just that I’m surrounded by so much pink and glitter these days with my firstborn that I’m wishing for something that isn’t there. And hey, it can always be a tomboy, right?
I have my next ultrasound in a few weeks, and we’ll see if the spawn cooperates and lets us see the goods.