E-I-E-I-Oh-No...

I used to listen to the radio on my way to work every morning. I loved it. Depending on my mood, I'd listen to everything from the local DJs' off-color banter to National Public Radio to old school hip hop at full blast.

This morning, my listening choices were limited to two: Aidan Kai's incessant shrieks at full blast or my nasally voice singing "Old Macdonald" over and over and over and over again.

Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if I could have at least jammed out with some variety...a little "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" mixed in with some rockin' "Pat-a-Cake." But no, it was just "Old Macdonald." That was all he wanted.

"More."

At the end of every barnyard round-up, I'd cheer wildly and pause and pray that he'd had enough and I'd be able to drive in my not-a-morning-person-especially-in-30-degree-weather mental state of mind. But no.

"More."

So I'd break into my most enthusiastic version of "Where is Thumbkin?" or "You Are My Sunshine," but no.

"No-no. No-no. Mooooooo. More."

Damn that farmer and his stupid cow.

So there I was...all 32 minutes of my drive in South Florida traffic on a Monday morning with record low temperatures. Me. Miss Don't-Fuckin'-Talk-To-Me-In-The-Morning-Cause-I'm-Too-Sleepy-To-Even-Be-Cordial...singing.

I guess I could've stopped. I could've just let him cry and scream. That's what Hubby would've done, I think. Not because he's mean, but because he's laid back, actually. As in: "Don't worry about it. Just leave him. He'll be fine after a few seconds." And he's right. Usually he'll fuss for a bit and then will stop when he's not getting any attention. I know this. I've done this. I've had a kid before, remember? I was pretty good at training that one. But this one? I don't know. Let's just say my second one's got a bit of an advantage. I'm much more tired now than I was with only one child, for starters. I'm also not quite as obsessive-compulsive over doing every single thing right and picking every single battle to fight. I've also realized most things are phases with kids, and no matter how tough they are, they outgrow everything, eventually. And let's just say that Aidan is less pliable than Ben was. Oh, yeah, and he's cuuuuuuuute.

So when the wailing started, and I looked at him in the rearview mirror...his dimpled chubby cheeks and pudgy nose all rosy from the cold, the rest of him completely enveloped by 3 layers of pajamas and a fleece jacket...I couldn't help it. One little song will calm him, I thought. And it did. It was like hypnosis. He just sat. Calm. Still. Content. Quiet...except for the repeated requests for more barnyard noises.

And so I sang. I mooo'd. I baaaa'd. I quacked. I neighed. At 7 in the morning. And if I hadn't been so busy trying to think of more animal sounds, I would've laughed. Yet another example of how motherhood changes you. I used to be cool. I used to listen to the radio in the morning. I used to say I'd never cater to my children. I used to say I could never (fill-in-the-blank) in the mornings.

But then I had kids.

I changed. Just like everyone else said I would. But not too much, not completely. Just enough, for them. And sometimes, for me. And sometimes, for that damned farmer.

Now everybody: "With a moo-moo here..."