A Mother Muses on Music
By: Heidi Woo
Tags: Motherhood, Music, Love, Stay At Home Mom, Baby

I’ve been slowly introducing Ben to the world of music. Not just “Wheels on the Bus” and “Baby Shark,” which both admittedly appear regularly on our Spotify queue, but music music. I marvel at his innate appreciation for music — the way it seems to transport him to a different place. We watch NPR’s Tiny Desk Music sessions together, and I witness the transformation that happens as his busy little body suddenly finds stillness. His gaze deeply focused on the faces of these music makers, in awe of their gift, mesmerized by their ability to manipulate sound. Occasionally, Ben will join them in song — — “Aaaah, aaaah, aaaah” he’ll babble in rhythm. “Uuuuh, uuuh, ooooh” he’ll croon from his seat. When a song with a heavy percussion plays, he propels his body towards the ceiling and then the floor, using his diapered bottom as a launchpad, his pelvis as a thruster. Hop, hop, hop goes his little bum-bum to the beat.

My little music lover’s general state of restlessness finds ease in song. I frequently compose tunes for him throughout the day to appease both his crying and my boredom. The monotony of stay-at-home motherhood is an injustice that doesn’t get as much attention as it should. It’s a universal sentiment, I think. Being with Baby all day is sometimes boring. “Oh, but of course I wouldn’t trade it for anything!” is the mandatory qualifier that must follow such a confession. “This time is so precious. He’ll never be this little again!” Any hint of disdain towards this sacred role we possess immediately leads to judgment and assumptions about our lack of character. We’re not allowed to not like being moms.

Seriously, how many board books can one read? The total sum of words in their dime-thick pages equates to a single paragraph, maybe two. Not much there in terms of entertainment value. Sometimes, I wish Ben would talk already so that I could have someone to talk to. But then again, he’ll probably just ask me a million questions all day, every day. That’s not what I’d consider riveting conversation either. Any attempt to have a real-life exchange with another adult human requires so much effort: navigating nap schedules and coordinating commutes. Texting is the simplest way to reach out to another grown person for connection. But the pace of conversation is so staggered, with a single exchange taking an entire day. Our babies inadvertently act like obstacles to our ability to connect with others.

But then… there are those moments — those cliche moments that bring me so much joy that time stops still. Like when Ben laughs at nothing funny. His giggles make my heart soar. It feels like falling in love each time. His laughter is so genuine, so sincere. The notion that what he’s laughing at is literally the funniest thing he’s ever seen in his life; it’s so damn cute, I could die.

I love Ben so much. I love every bit of him. Even his diaper rash that stirs up a pervasive feeling of inadequacy every time it shows itself — a little red target highlighting my ineptitude as a mother. Oh, and those marshmallow cheeks that I munch on every day as I tell him I love him. “I love you so much!!!!” munch munch munch, nuzzle, nuzzle, nuzzle. Ben’s learned to show his love the same way. I’m proud to admit that I’ve taught my son to gnaw on people’s faces as a sign of affection. When prompted to give a kiss, Ben will open his mouth, suck on your cheek, and lick its surface. It feels slimy and weird, but at the same time loving and generous. So special is my little creature. My lovely, lovely little creature.