I flatly refused the first time. B was keen on the idea. He would be. He likes a constant backdrop of anything from Charles Ives to Charles Aznavour, but I know myself and I realised that in the stress and pain of labour, the wrong song could be fatal to my irritation levels, and there was then a distinct possibility that the cd player might end up being used as an offensive weapon.
So L was born only to the melodious tones of her mother's voice. Apparently I swore. A lot.
When it came to A and S though, we were firmly told by the surgeon that we really ought to bring in a cd, as otherwise our daughters would be born to magic fm. Now I don't want to be rude about magic fm which has, after all, brought me hours of cheesy listening pleasure, but it is certainly true to say that it has the shortest playlist of any radio station I've ever listened to and Celine Dion is always on it. Even I wasn't prepared to have the girls' first auditory experience of the outside world be that horrendous.
So B made a playlist. Weeks of thought went into it, culminating a heated debate of the irrational sort that only a woman 35-weeks pregnant with twins can achieve. B wanted the Killers. I refused to have my babies born to the line, "Are we human?" I still maintain it was the right decision. The first song ended up being Here come the girls (Ernie K Doe, not the Sugababes, although EMI have taken it off YouTube so I can't link to it, sorry), which gave the anaesthetist the giggles, (not such a good thing given he was waving a large needle at my spine at the time) and they were actually born to Aretha (sorry Celine....)
Two and a bit years later, here we are again. And if baby T* has turned, which we will find out on Friday, then silence and swearing will once again hold sway. But if he hasn't, he'll be coming out of the sunroof, and, on the basis that Radio Borders is not much better than magic, we'll need a soundtrack. So far, it goes something like this...
Here comes the "sun"And maybe, optimistically, a new dawn, a new day, a new life... Feeling Good.
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
Boys, boys, boys (although actually I've just listened to it for the first time since about 1986 and it's awful, so maybe not. You have been warned).
Mad about the boy
My gut instinct (which isn't really in my gut so much as kicking at my ribs) is that he has turned, and so the chances are this list will never be required, but in the meantime I'm going to have fun adding to it...
*T. To follow on from L, A and S.