Sweet melody

One of my fantasies is to be the lead singer in a band. At the very least, maybe a member of a show chorus or have a decent voice in the shower. I don't think any of these will ever be true. But I've loved being a mom, partly because I can sing unabashedly whenever, wherever and not have to worry about what I sound like. If someone at the market hears me, so be it. I don't care what they think and I have license to croon. 

Until now.

The G-man used to love it when I sang. He would calm down as a baby, and then as he learned to talk, he'd ask me to sing certain songs. It was wonderful. I don't care if it's the same song over and over and he didn't care if I only knew one verse and it was out of tune. Then one day, he said no.

No sing. NOOOOO! (feet kick, hands thrash)

Now my go-to distraction and my feel-good parts of the day are gone. I knew someday he'd realize mommy can't sing, but I never thought it would be so soon. Does this mean he's a musical genius with a keen ear for melody? Or that my voice can make a toddler, who thinks the sound of a trash truck in reverse is glorious, cringe in despair.

So now I guess my only outlet is serenading the dog and cat, and trust me, I do this already. I can only hope they don't file a petition with the ASPCA over it.