Maya's been singing her way through daily activities lately -- walking to the bathroom ("going toooo the bath-rooom"), playing with Georgia, eating. It's very cute; I always claim she's got a good sense of melody. Sometimes it's kind of operatic, other times cute and musical.
This evening, we went out for a late-night grocery run, and she found her missing sheep-baby (it's a round stuffed sheep that has been imbued with sentimental value and baby-ness.
Maya is in the back seat, strapped into her carseat, playing with her sheep. Daddy starts the car and begins driving.
Maya: [singing] Sheepy Sheepy She-eepy
[some time later]
Daddy: [singing] Sheepy Sheepy She-eepy
Maya: [firmly] Daddy, don't sing that song.
Daddy: Okay.
[some time later]
Daddy: Sheepy Sheepy She-eepy
Maya: Daddy, stop singing that song.
Daddy: Sorry. I won't sing it anymore. [pause] I like that song, though. I heard you singing it. You know how you get a song stuck in your head? [silence] Do you ever get a song stuck in your head, Maya?
Maya: No. I have a song in my tummy.
Daddy: In your tummy?
Maya: Yes, in my tummy.
Daddy tries to imagine having a song in his tummy.
I had to think about it for a little while, and envision a song circulating around in my stomach, and I have to admit that I like the idea. I think it makes much more sense than having a song in your head -- after all, if it comes out your mouth, where must it originate?
