Sugar Pig: Behind the Music

In my house, we sing a lot of songs. Not #1 hits. Not even Top 40. We sing mostly made-up -- and often inappropriate -- songs.

I got the habit from my husband, who's been doing this as long as I've known him and probably long before that. Typically he changes the words from well-known anthems to suit whatever he's doing or whoever he is talking to at the time. For example, he co-opted the 1971 tune "Signs" by Five Man Electrical Band and turned it into a ditty about our first Boston terrier and his unfortunate encounter with employer discrimination: "Sign says long-eared fuzzy puppies need not apply..." For the record, Patch was neither long-eared nor fuzzy, and to my knowledge he never applied for a job. But why let facts interfere with good lyrics?

Sometimes the hubs makes up original, heartfelt lyrics on the spot. One notable hair-band-esque riff he repeatedly sang during our courtship, while we spoke on the phone long-distance, was "take your pants off, girrrrrl, when you're talkin' to meeee!" That's a true romantic and musical genius. Somewhere in Malibu, Axl Rose has a tear in his eye right now.

Since I am young (ha) and impressionable (double ha), his habit must have rubbed off on me. For when my first-born was a mere couple of months old, I wrote a simple but catchy tune that perfectly described the situation in which I often found myself. The lyrics go like this:

What's a-matter with the baby?
What's a-matter with the baby?
What's a-matter with the baby?
I DON'T KNOW.

My muse

I realize much of the emotional impact of the song is lost here, since you are reading these words in plain black and white and not hearing them in the melodious tones of my golden voice. So trust me when I say it's an intoxicating mix of swing style, child's lullaby, and plea for sweet release. It seemed to calm him, or at least temporarily confuse him. As he stared into my face while I sang those words, his banshee cries would usually cease...at least for a few blessed minutes.

Sensing I was onto something I came up with more lyrics, transforming my four original lines into the chorus. In subsequent verses I proffered three possible explanations for what was indeed the matter with the baby, followed by three plausible options for remedying the situation. In between all of this I sang out the refrain loudly and without pride: "I DON'T KNOW."

It's a beautiful song. I wish you could hear it.

Some time after my first-born entered his second year, "What's A-Matter With the Baby" fell into obscurity, to be memorialized only in a baby book on a shelf. I put the song, and the accolades that came with it, behind me.

That was, until my daughter was born. Suddenly floundering again with an angry newborn who could be offered no solace, I revived my one-hit wonder. I didn't even bother changing the masculine pronouns to feminine ones. No. This...this is a classic, timeless tune that remains loyal to the historical use of "he" as the universal singular pronoun.

I may never know if my son remembers it from his own infancy, but at age 3 he is so familiar with the song that he asks for it by name and can correctly sing the first four lines by himself. "Sing the baby song, momma?" he will say sweetly as my 5-month-old daughter wails in the car seat beside him. "Daddy sing too!" In a beautiful family moment, we all chime in together (except for the baby, who is still crying) and sing:

What's a-matter with the baby?
What's a-matter with the baby?
What's a-matter with the baby?
I DON'T KNOW.

Is the baby maybe hungry?
Is the baby maybe poopy?
Is the baby maybe sleepy?
I DON'T KNOW.

If the baby's hungry, feed him!
If the baby's poopy, change him!
If the baby's sleepy, rock him!
I DON'T KNOW.

This is my legacy.