My son loves to hear me sing lullabies.

“Sing to me, Mommy,” his sleepy voice pleads as I sit on his bed, stroking his head. I start my trio of songs, almost carrying a tune. My singing voice is horrible. I can’t hear when I’m off key.

I love music so I don’t think I’m tone deaf, but something’s missing in how I hear the notes. What comes out of my mouth does not at all match what I hear in my head.

But Nick loves my lullabies. Nick loves me.

My husband never heard me sing before we had Nick. I don’t sing along in the car, not even in the shower. But right after Nick was born, I started singing aloud to him. He’d be snug in my arms, nursing, and I’d sing. I felt my mother singing through me when the Irish standard, "Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral," came out of my mouth.

My shyness, my embarrassment about my voice, doesn’t matter if it’s what Nick needs. I’ll do whatever I need to take care of my boy, to make him feel safe and secure.

Nick has helped me find so many spaces in myself that I thought were closed or didn’t know existed. My boy has helped me find my voice and my joy.

I hope my unconditional love of him will help him grow as much as his love nourishes me.

By Marianne Longsdale

Labels: By Marianne Lonsdale, love, lullabies, singing, son

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