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She nods.
“Sofia, some of those songs aren’t appropriate for a baby!” I whisper-snap.
Sofia busts out laughing. “Bren, it’s okay. She doesn’t understand what the lyrics mean.”
Addy is on the verge of crying, I just know it, and I panic. “Sofia! She’s going to cry. Please,” I beg.
“‘Girl from Kansas City’ is her new favorite,” she says with a grin and sits down, not at all intending to help me out.
Addy, for her part, keeps stretching out her arms toward Sofia. I change the tempo to a softer one, but I sing her the song Sofia suggested—a lullaby remix.
“Front row center,
Girl from Kansas City
My tormentor
Addy’slittle face turns up to look at me, her head cocked to the side, but she stops fussing for one second. Her gaze freezes up on my face. Her little round face seems confused but also expectant now.
“Keep singing,” Sofia says.
“Right. Um...”
“With her full lips,the spell she cast on me,
With tequila nights
“Swimmingin the valley
Sharing Mount Olympus
Dwelling place of gods
Addy wigglesin my grip like she’s trying to bounce and starts smiling as I sing.
“With her full lips,the spell she cast on me, I was bewitched.
“The girlfrom Kansas City
My tormentor, front row center,
Girl from Kansas City
By the endof the second chorus, Addy is full-blown giggling, and she brings her little chubby hands to my face. I kiss one of her palms.
“Hey, little girl,” I say, and Addy beams up at me, then bounces on my arm again.
Sofia throws her head back with laughter, and I blink up at her.
“She wants you to keep singing,” Sofia explains.
So I do. I perform the entire album like a lullaby—bleeping out the curse words—and little Addy bounces in my arms, what I now understand to be her form of dancing, and giggles the entire time.
She is tuckered out by the end, and I lay her down in her brand new crib for a nap.
“That was so wrong,” I say to Sofia when we are alone.
“What?”
