We All Have a Special Song


A mother rocking her baby to sleep singing her special song. Once upon a time, I made up a lullaby. I cannot pinpoint the date, but I know it was some night of my first child’s infant stage. She was hard to put to sleep. She needed hours of gliding, swaying, and holding. She was one of those babies who required repeated efforts at the ninja transfer from my arms to the crib.

And so after one of those failed efforts, when her eyes shot open, and she started crying, I returned to my perch on the glider and came up with some lyrics. I have no idea how I could rhyme and create some tune in that hazy state. But the song melodically and mellowly arrived.

“It’s time to go to sleep, Abbie.
It’s time to go to sleep, my lo-ove.
Just close your eyes and rest your head,
and drift off to dreamland in bed.

It’s time to go to sleep, Abbie.
It’s time to go to sleep, my lo-ove.
We love you more and more every day,
We’re so happy you came to play.

It’s time to go to sleep, Abbie.
It’s time to go to sleep, my lo-ove.”
(And then many “hmmmmms” to the beat of the song.)

While I can’t say singing it reduced the number of failed transfer attempts in those early months, it made bedtime much sweeter. You can’t sing a lullaby and be stressed. I sang it over and over again each night.

Flash forward a few months when she would happily go into her crib, drowsy with fluttering eyes. (For the record, she only became easier to put to bed after we succeeded with the cry-it-out sleep training method. I say “we” because I also cried those few nights as I listened to her cry, putting herself to sleep.

I had returned to work, and performing hours of ninja moves was not sustainable. So, first-time mamas in my shoes, I understand and am here for you. The lullaby became the last part of the bedtime routine; the stream of “hmmmms” was the signal for me to stand up and place her in her crib.

Eleven years later, I am still singing that lullaby every night to each of my three kids. The only lyric that has changed is the personalization with my second and third kids’ names. They all call it “the special song.”

Again, my memory is foggy. I do not remember if it was my eldest or middle who penned that name, nor do I remember when that name surfaced. All I know is that they want (and need) “the special song” every night.

One thing I do remember is my eldest asking me to write the lyrics on a piece of paper when she was in third grade. She was working on her own lyrics for some school assignment, and she told me that I was also a songwriter and that I should copyright my lyrics. Be still, my heart.

As I re-read what I have written, I wonder what is the purpose of this post? Why would someone want to read these lyrics? And I suppose the only good answer is more questions. Why are we so private about the sentimental parts of our daily lives? How do we want to be remembered as parents? What is a unique way we make our children know how loved they are?

So much is shared online, but I wish more of our hearts were made public. I started writing for Fairfield County Mom almost seven years ago because I wanted to bare pieces of my heart. I was inspired by how much other contributors display their own hearts.

So, if you are still reading, I invite you to share part of your heart. I’m listening, and I know your words will be a “special song.”

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Maria F
Maria F. is a high school English teacher who naturally finds herself reflecting upon the routine and randomness that accompany each day as a working mommy. She relies upon humor and some sort of chocolate or frozen treat as survival tactics. She and her husband live in East Norwalk with their three kids, Abbie (2012), Charlie (2014), and Phoebe (2018). You can find Maria F. driving in her beloved dream car, a minivan, listening to audiobooks during her commute, or playing DJ and climate controller when she’s shuttling her kids around town. Forever a sorority girl and Ohio State Buckeye, she will (almost) always choose socializing over chilling on the couch.


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