Baby, We Were Born To Run!

By Stephanie Lewis

In my last column I was debating whether I should go through with marrying Mr. Right, even though he lived and breathed Karaoke 24/7.Well, you can congratulate me...I am now officially a member of the support group, SHOCK, (Spouses Hearing Obsessive Compulsive Karaoke). By the way, the first 100 people who go into SHOCK receive free earplugs, and our official song is "If I had a Hammer!"

Back to our wedding...I should have known what I was in for the moment we danced our first song as husband and wife.Did we waltz to "We’ve Only Just Begun?"Nope. How about gentle swaying to "Can’t Help Falling In Love?"Wrong! Noooooooo, we had to do the polka to "I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing!"

But listen, I’m the forgiving type and he looked awfully cute in his tux with the cufflinks shaped like miniature compact disks, so I turned the other cheek and now, here I am...err, actually, here "we" are.You see, the stick turned pink just the other day, and now I’m waiting for the proper moment to spring the news.He can now hum the theme song to Father Knows Best!

I don’t know whether my extreme nausea is related to the pregnancy or hearing him do "Sometimes When We Touch" 25 times a day, but the other morning, I emerged from my shower to profuse compliments and rave reviews.(Beware of flattery!This is yet another sneaky tactic these addicts will try to lure you into their obsession with singing!)

"That was really nice. What I heard in the shower...what do you call that again?" he said with a sickening sweet voice.

"Vomiting," I said dryly. "I’m pregnant!"I awaited his reaction.

"Well, you do it in just the perfect key," he went on as the news sunk in.

 "What?????"

I nodded, and immediately he proudly burst into Billy Joel lyrics "You had to be a Big Shot last night!" accompanied by appropriate hand gestures.Hmmmmmmm, well this was going fairly well.At least he wasn’t too upset.

The next day, I was surprised to find him up at the crack of dawn poring over baby name books.It couldn’t be just any name; you see...it had to be a name from a song so he could croon it in the labor and delivery room to the nurses and me while the baby made its entrance into the world.

Examples he gave me included "Hello Dolly" (too cutesy!), "Long Tall Sally" (as long as her head circumference was average!), and Crackling Rosie (ouch! too painful!).

"How about Lucy in the Sky With Diapers?" he grinned.

"What makes you think we’re having a little girl?" I baited him.

He looked a little panicked, "Because I don’t know the lyrics to "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown!"

"Look Sinatra breath," I snapped, "Just sing ‘Born Free’ and call it a day."

Pregnant women can get real cranky.

But things didn’t stop there. Karaoke lyrics continued to filter into our daily lives.At our Lamaze class, while I huffed and puffed along with 18 other women, he stole the instructor’s microphone and belted out, "I haven’t Got Time for the Pain."

When I first felt the baby kick, he insisted on tying a string to my blouse that he pulled each time he sang Olivia Newton John’s, "Let’s Get Physical...let me hear your body talk!" And now that I’m really showing in the midriff area, he breaks into the Beatles tune, "Carry That Weight" when I come home.

Nine months is a long time to stay pregnant, and there’s not a room in our house I haven’t been sick in. But when he read in our pregnancy book that I should be having specific food cravings, he started singing suggestively "The Candyman," followed by "Lollypop," and then "Strawberry Fields Forever." Surely, "On top of Spaghetti" can’t be far behind!

Then there was the time he accompanied me to the doctor so he could hear the baby’s heart amplified with a special stethoscope.He insisted it sounded like Michael Jackson’s "Beat It."The doctor wisely kept quiet.

Things got so out of hand that I would deliberately trick him into believing he was singing wrong song lyrics. I then taught him the "real" ones so he would embarrass himself up on stage.Pregnant women can get real mean!"

For instance, his favorite Travolta song from Grease has an opening line, "I’ve got chills, they’re multiplying!" But I convinced him the true lyrics were, "I’ve got shoes, they’re made of plywood."He loves the Eddie Money song, "I’ve Got Two Tickets to Paradise," but now stands corrected with, "I’ve Got Two Tic Tacs and a Pair of Dice!"

Next, I’m thinking of telling him that the Pina Collada song starts out, "If you like peeing in closets..." but I’m not sure he’ll really fall for that.(Stay tuned, I’m planning on devoting a future column on mistaken song lyrics.)

Well, the "kicker" (literally!) to this little Karaoke tale arrived on June 10th.My water broke and of course that elicited a rousing rendition of "Surfing USA."We rushed to the hospital with the radio blaring "I Believe I Can Fly" while I moaned and groaned in the back seat."Try that with an F sharp, honey." he kept encouraging while I shot him a look.

When the time came for me to push, he wasn’t lovingly supporting my head and shoulders while mopping my brow.Instead, he was serenading between my thighs Carly Simon’s "Anticipation."And one well-placed kick had him sounding like her too!

Finally, after twenty hours of excruciating labor, our daughter was finally born.As I held her adoringly in my arms, I had to admit it was all worth it.We agreed in advance that if it was a boy, I would choose the name, and if it was a girl, he got free reign.As I smiled down at my daughter, he handed me the filled out birth certificate.

"Sedative!" I moaned in horror as I read aloud his scrawled handwriting under Name of Child..."Carrie Yokie" it said as plain as day.I considered lapsing into unconsciousness, but who knows what song that could trigger!

Stephanie Lewis lives in La Costa with her new husband and just gave birth to her fifth child.She savors "The Sound of Silence."Contact Stephanie at Quotegal@nethere.com