Micheal and I are driving to the grocery store listening to 107.5 f.m., the pop station that plays one song for every ten minutes of music. Though it makes me feel like an old woman to admit it, the vast majority of the songs aren't what I would call "catchy"--Where's the music? I often complain. I can't make out the lyrics either which reminds me of my own mother whose gripes against the Top 40 Countdown would be endured every Sunday as we drove to church.
I agree with Micheal that at least Lady Gaga's songs are catchy. "Oh, turn it up," he reaches forward to do it himself. "This is my mom and Ryan's song." The August wind is rolling in through our open windows and Rosa Parks is almost clear of cars. It's early in the morning, a day barely formed and Micheal and I are making up the day as we go.
"What kind of music will your baby listen to?" Micheal asks. At just 11 weeks pregnant, I am barely beginning to show. I have gained 2 pounds, but this time around, my stomach began to bulge earlier and Micheal, with his astute observations doesn't miss a thing. He's known for 2 weeks now.
Yesterday he asked what food my baby will grow up eating, if like me, the baby would be mostly vegetarian, with occasional exceptions for meat, or if the baby would be like he and his dad, "omnivores". I don't know, I'd replied, but whatever the baby grows up to be, I hope it eats a lot of vegetables. At that Micheal had rolled his eyes and smiled as if to say, 'of course you do.'
I consider his question for a moment. "Well, Where did you start listening to pop music?" Micheal shrugs, "School, my mom."
"I'll tell you, the person who will probably have the greatest musical influence on any brother or sister of yours, is you."
He considers for a moment the possibility, nods, looks out the window and smiles.
"Then it's probably going to like Lady Gaga a lot."
"I think you're right."
He turns up the next song and begins humming to it. "Do I know this one?" I ask, to which I get a smile and an eye roll.
