I'm one of those people who was never really excited about having kids. I wanted to get married. And once I discovered that my wife-to-be wanted to have kids, I figured I'd go along with it. It seemed like the courteous thing to do.
But babies, especially, unsettled me. They were unreasonable and non-communicative, which was a terrible combination. I mean, both of those things? If it were one or the other, I figured I could make them at least stop crying--but both? Sheesh.
And the pooping. I tend to gag when I see a dog poop from a distance. It took me about a year of picking up after my dog nearly every day before I could do it without gagging every time. But actually cleaning poop off of another person?
Unlike most people, I looked forward to my kids' teenage years. At least then I could communicate with them. They probably wouldn't like me, but at least they would know what I was saying. I asked my wife if she could raise our future kids until they were about 10, then I could take it from there. She told me it didn't work like that.
There was one time I was awkwardly interacting with one of my wife's sister's kids (i.e., my niece). I found out later that Beth and her sister were off to the side assessing my skills at relating to children, and Beth's sister offered, "Well, maybe when you have your own kids, he'll be more like he is with Poozle [our dog]." Poozle I could connect with. He liked to wrestle and snuggle. He would sit or go lay down when I told him to. He pooped in the yard. I could leave him alone for hours at a time.
Everyone says it's different with your own kids. Yes, it is. I truly can't explain why I loved my daughters so much when they were born. The love that was born in my heart when my children were born into this world is one of the strongest evidences for God that I have in my life.
Turns out, kids like to wrestle and snuggle, too. And they can be trained to poop in the toilet. They don't ALWAYS do what I say but, unlike Poozle, they are capable of following directions with multiple steps. And I would do anything I could possibly do to help them grow and show them love. That's the seed of this lyric: that I WOULD do anything that I COULD. The harder thing, I have found, is realizing that there are some things that I simply can't do. Some things are out of my hands, and some things--like being hyperprotective--actually do more harm than good. So I never dreamed I'd write something like this--a love song to my daughters--but now it seems completely natural, especially since my kids like music so much.
My older daughter, in particular, liked music from when she was a little baby. I would regularly play and/or sing "Bright Lights" by Matchbox Twenty and "Ultraviolet (Light My Way)" by U2, each of which has a chorus that begins with "Baby, baby, baby." Hearing the chorus often calmed her down when she was upset about something. Sometimes I would sing it as quietly as a whisper, just in her ear.
Once, Beth and I were hanging up window treatments in the nursery. My older daughter was plopped on the floor next to us, too small to move, and big enough to express her displeasure. With me on the stepstool, and Beth handing me curtain rods and screws and the like, our daughter was lying there, screaming, waiting for us to be done so she could go to bed. Hanging curtains is annoying enough. Add the soundtrack of a screaming baby? Shivers.
We were both trying to soothe our daughter to no avail when Beth, near the end of her rope, said to me, "Sing to her."
Flustered, I stuttered, "I feel pretty self-conscious.... we'll be done in a second-"
"Sing!"
So I sang my best Bono: "Baby, baby, baby... baby, baby, baby... baby, baby, baby light my way." Immediately, our daughter quieted and looked up at me, hypnotized no doubt by her daddy's angelic voice. I repeated the line about a dozen times until we were done with the curtain.
It was right around that time that I had been jotting down some of the ideas in this lyric, but it was that moment that I decided that the lyrics needed to have a "baby, baby, baby" chorus, harkening for all time back to my daughter's favorite songs from her youth.
I rounded out the rest of the words and came up with a distinct (from U2 and Matchbox Twenty) melody for the chorus. And this is the finished product. Enjoy.
-THP
If I Could
If I could I would take it all away from you
If I could I would never let you cry
If I could I would take on all your pain and sadness
And give you wings to help you sail the sky
If I could I would hold you far away from
All the dangers that I know you’ll face
If I could I would take fragile heart of yours
And fill it full with peace and hope and grace
And baby, baby, baby, maybe
By the time you understand
The words I’m writing to you as you sleep
I’ll figure out all the things I can’t do
And give you to the one who can
The one we pray each night your soul to keep
If I could I would make this world your playground
Where you’re picked first and never skin your knees
I would give you courage to stand up to the bullies
And reveal their insecurities
If I could I would always kneel and laugh with you
To watch the waves disintegrate our castles in the sand
If I could I would affirm that heart that makes you you
And be there when you cross the street to always hold your hand
And baby, baby, baby, maybe
By the time you understand
The words I’m writing to you as you sleep
I’ll figure out all the things I can’t do
And give you to the one who can
The one we pray each night your soul to keep
If I could I’d distill that glowing smile
And figure out the thoughts that make it be
Then take those thoughts and let you always think them
So your smiles will reflect an inner peace
If I could I would pass on all the lessons
That I know can only come through wounded dreams
If I could I would lead you through the valley
To the living, healing, hope-restoring streams
And baby, baby, baby, maybe
By the time you understand
The words I’m writing to you as you sleep
I’ll figure out all the things I can’t do
And give you to the one who can
The one we pray each night your soul to keep
AWESOME!
ReplyDelete