|I'm particularly fond of her wee crossed feet.|
Tonight as I was trying to get her sleep, I sang to her, and I realized how grateful I am to have a repertoire of songs from my Mormon upbringing. I make up a lot of songs during the day, inserting her name here and there, rhyming sweet with feet, that sort of thing. (Sam has a killer song about her comfort rabbit, Elroy. I need to get him to record it for me.) But when she's upset, when she needs the big guns, I go for the hymns. I often sing her "Come, Come, Ye Saints" (which Sam also requests when upset). I sing her "How Firm a Foundation" and "Nearer, My God, to Thee" and "I Am a Child of God" and "A Child's Prayer" and "For the Beauty of the Earth" and "Lead, Kindly Light" and "Be Still, My Soul."
Tonight as I sang, she looked up at me in the dark, finally finally calm, after a little help from Children's Ibuprofen. And she just watched me, eyes wide in the dark as I sang and sang, and then hummed and hummed, and rocked her, and patted her backside, and wondered what on earth I would do without those songs in my head. They've comforted me and been a fixture of my faith for as long as I can remember, so it's meaningful to sing them to her. Sometimes I worry what I'll be able to pass onto her, faith-wise, but when I'm singing those songs, I feel pleased that I'm beginning in a place that feels absolutely authentic to me. At least she'll have some vague recollection of those tunes and words, and a legacy of singing them for comfort.