I’ve written a new song for Wanda entitled “Baby of Rage.” The words are different every time I sing it but they basically consist of me singing to her in my sweetest voice about how she’s a Baby of Rage and I don’t know why.
Most of the time she’s a Baby of Sweetness but every so often, every day or two, she has a rough period of rage and physical turmoil that I assume is caused by digestational distress incomprehensible to someone whose intestines are as highly developed as mine.
We’re at the stage in her life where I feel directly responsible for any sickness she feels in her tummy. “It must have been those Swedish fish I ate yesterday. I’m so thoughtless! Tomorrow I will stick to a strict diet of steamed carrots and mashed potatoes.”
But then the next day I will eat the steamed carrots and mashed potatoes and sneak a bite of Magoo’s hot dog. At 1pm, Baby of Rage will surface and I will think, “What a feckless MORON am I?! I did this to her. Darn that meat product!”
In reality I have no idea what causes Baby of Rage to rear her pathetic head, squawking and grunting her way to burden-free bowels.
The composition and subsequent performance of the song reminded me of how much we enjoyed doing freestyle family rap battles back in the day, the rhyming, the flow, the hoodies and do-rags. When Wanda’s older, I hope she’ll be all up in hee-ya wid-it. Holla!
Alas. We need to work on getting her to freestyle her fecal matter before we proceed to anything more creative.