I know I said I’d have pictures from meeting Julie and the chicken wing excursion today, but I kind of forgot that I was supposed to do that last night… I got caught up in making dinner for my husband who was slaving away in blacktop in 90 degree weather and then got caught up in watching “A Baby Story,” the only show that can reduce me to a sniveling, drooling crybaby in a matter of seconds. Tomorrow, I SWEAR.
I’m convinced that my baby is going to be a rocker. Since I’ve gotten pregnant, I’ve really loved old school rock n roll. I’ve always liked it, but it’s so much easier to get into these days. When I first found out I was pregnant, hearing AC/DC was like paradise for me. I had my own personal AC/DC concert in my car this morning, poking my belly while singing/screaming, “I’m baaaa-aaaaack, baaaaaa-aaaaaccck, back in black! Yes, I’m back in black!” Then I’d get worried that I was listening to my stereo way too loud for my yet to be born infant child and turn it down a few notches. I figure it’s my responsibility, as a music lover, to show my child the roots of rock. I’m planning on a mixed CD for the nursery with some of the more soft songs from my favorite old school bands, like the Clash, Kiss, Bob Marley, Queen, Fleetwood Mac, etc. Between me and Ryan, this kid will be a musical genius.
This weekend will be Fuzzball’s first real concert, so I hope I get some feedback while Stevie Nicks is on stage, you know, like a kick to say, “I’m listening.” That would be awesome. I swear he/she was doing backflips in there yesterday. What a strange feeling that is. It’s like a squirrel doing back handsprings off your pelvis. Of course, I’ve never had a squirrel do a back handspring off my pelvis, so I have no basis for comparison. I can imagine though.