So I Married a Philistine

I know Mozart is what you're supposed to play to make your baby smart, but for the sake of my not wanting to cut out my eardrums with a dull butter knife variety, I've tried to expose Pillbug to a variety of genres.  Moms of little kids can do a lot without looking silly, but doing a conga line with a baby to an 18th century minuet just never flies.

As a wannabe ParrotHead1, I made a little dance routine for me and Pillbug to one of the greatest songs ever written.  Yesterday morning, after a night of no sleep, we were in the living room singing and dancing when my husband rushed out of the shower.

CoffeeMan:  Is everything OK out here?
Me: We're just dancing.
CoffeeMan: I thought I heard a faint cry for help.
Me:  I didn't say anything.
CoffeeMan: I didn't mean from you.  Snatched the baby and began to sing Bob Marley.

1No, dammit, I do not smoke weed!  It's just too much a cliche when you're married to a Jamaican. Nor do I sell spliff, nor do I know where you can get the good shit, etc.