Music is foremost among the tools I employ in putting my baby to sleep. Around eight weeks into my pregnancy I started playing Ultrasound: Music for the Unborn Child. I used earphones; one plugged in my ear and the other attached to my belly. I bought the CD from Tower Records. Right before I wrote this entry I looked it up in Amazon. The prices now vary. There are also good and not very good reviews there. Personally I love the tracks, all 17 of them and I assume the tiny listener inside would love them too :) Now that he's out and invading my bed, I still play it on for him. A few minutes of these titles quickly send a semi-hyperactive kid to dreamland: Berceuse for Piano in D flat major, B 154/Op. 57, Nocturne for Harp, Op. 20, Rˆverie or Nutcracker Suite, Op. 71a: no 3, Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy. The latter is my favorite :)
Storybooks are just as vital. This one is prescribed by the Lola. History does repeat itself. I had two of the same books along with those Tell-it-again series when I was a kid. Convinced of their moral and spiritual values, I purchased the entire set. Shown here is one of ten volumes published by Philippine Publishing House.
I am always drawn to book shops whenever I go malling. With the little guy in mind as another excuse to shop (a heavier reason now I suppose), this Treasury of Virtue is also lined up beside the bed:
It contains stories that most of us know from childhood. They are nicely illustrated. The child in me sometimes tarry on the pages. Cj protests and I reluctantly resume reading. I usually let him choose which book he wants me to read. He chooses this after Bible Friends:
When I read him poems, my voice is promptly overlapped by his yawns. It must be the lyrical effect of poetry. I gradually stop reading. He stirs and smiles with his eyes still shut but threatening to open wide again. I cook something up and sing off-key, "hush, little, Cj don't you move .... and move is what he exactly does. Stretching my patience, I curl up beside him and recite either A child's prayer or The Lord's Prayer, or sometimes the Twenty-third Psalm quietly over his head. He falls asleep with his baseball bat and a very worn soft ball that he does not want to give up. As I creep back to my computer, I wonder how the **** did I end up chanting by myself in the dark. I surely must have gone mental. I glance back at the subdued figure on my bed. "That's quite a bonus," I tell myself.