Another step forward into my babe-induced dorkiness. I invent songs now. Bad songs. I only sing them because they make her smile.
Months ago, my fellow mommy friend confessed to me that she did this. "I'll never do that," I thought. "I'm too self-conscious." Show me a self-conscious mother and I'll show you a gnome on a leprechaun on a woman who hates shoes! It would seem that nobody's opinion of me is more important than my daughter's smile.
So you won't be surprised if you hear:
"You've Got No Pants"
"You Aren't Wearing Any Pants Right Now [Papa remix]"
or
"Let Me Wipe Your Mouth (With a Burp Cloth, Girl)"
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