Big Girls Don't Cry
Okay, so I think motherhood has somehow tainted my music sensibilities. Since the beginning of Animal, I, like so many other mothers of my generation, prided myself on the fact that I would NOT lose my sense of cool, at least when it came to music. Okay, at least to the degree I started out cool. Which isn't a whole hell of a lot. I digress. I wear the fact that Millie witnessed two Billy Joel concerts and one Guster concert, all before she made her grand appearance, with pride. I love the fact that she was clapping and dancing to Amy Winehouse the other day. Not that I want my daughter emulate that poor woman's behavior, but she rocks an unbelievable house. Millie was in her booster on Monday while I was making dinner and Green Day and then the new Maroon 5 song came on. We both grooved. I swelled with pride. But then. THEN. I had the radio on today while making dinner and found myself singing along to Fergie. NOT Black Eyed Peas. But solo Fergie. I generally stick my snobbish rock and roll nose up at women who make her kind of vapid, cookie-cutter girly music. But, for some unknown reason, I like it. Shhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!! Don't tell a soul. My brothers would disown me, and rightly so. I'm considering a lobotomy. What the hell? Is it weaning hormones? Lack of sleep? My sinus infection? Help me. Someone. Please.