Baby girl feels better when I sing to her hits from The Culture Club. This morning she has been persistently whiny. Shes feeling sick still, and I am OK (so far) with the crying because how shes feeling, she deserves to share the pain.
This morning I found she loves her some Karma Chameleon. I wanted (read desperately needed) a shower (needed to scrub the snot off me) but she was not interested in letting me shower. So while we were both in the shower, her sitting on the floor of the tub, me frantically scrubbing my hair, we found our mutual love of singing eighties Brit Pop in the shower. I sang, she bopped and sang along. I changed the words, but I was impressed with her taste in melodies. She is most certainly my child. I remember thinking when I was about 4 that Boy George was funny name for such a pretty lady on the cover of my Moms record. I remember having a conversation with my mother about (what I can now identify as cross dressing and transgenderedism) it and how I just didn't believe her that she was in fact, a he. You see, I thought 'her' eye make up was "glam-o-rama"