That is how my daughter says, “Bim Bam.” As in, “Bim, bam, bim bim bim bam, bim bim bim bim bim bam.” Sing it with me if you will. I know this song inside and out. In fact, I am kind of an expert. I sing this little ditty approximately 4,000 times a day. Baby G is 18 months old, and Bim Bam is rocking her world. Baby G does not want to sing it herself, of course. In fact, she doesn’t actually want to sing it at all. She prefers to have it performed for her. By me. And who could blame her? I am the Lady Gaga of Bim Bam.
Little kids love repetition. You know that thing inside us adults that finds about 99% of things in the world annoying if we have to hear them more than twice? Yeah, little kids don’t have that. In fact, it’s just the opposite. When little kids find something they like, they like the hell out of it. As in, “Let’s make that thing I like aural and visual wallpaper for every waking second of my life–and then, when I wake up from my nap, we’re going to do it ALL OVER AGAIN! YEAH!”
“BAM BOOM! BAM BOOM! BAM BOOM!”
It’s really a shame that we can’t get toddlers to like filing TPS reports (Office Space fans, you know what I’m saying).
Wanting a break in accordance with humane workplace conditions/the Geneva convention, I got my hands on a CD that had “Bim Bam” on it. I turned it on in the living room. I folded my arms happily.
Enjoy, little girl, I thought as she smiled, listening to the 1:30 minute song on endless repeat. I just bought myself an opportunity to pee without singing at the same time. I am THE WOMAN.
Then we got into the car to drive to the supermarket. A few blocks from home, I smiled at her in the rearview mirror.
“Bam boom?” Her little eyes sought mine.
“No, hon, the CD is back at the house,” I said with a chipper smile.
“BAM BOOM?” Now her eyes were squinty.
“No, hon, the CD is back at the house,” I said. Smile somewhat less chipper.
“BAM BOOM PEEEEEEEEEZE!!!!!” Not a high volume pre-tantrum thing, but rather, she does this thing with her face that Jon and I call “anime eyes,” where she widens her eyes like she is begging to save the life of her pet. It is very hard to resist. And really, why not? Fine.
“Bim, bam, bim bim bim bam….”
If Baby G had her druthers, I think her perfect day would probably consist of approximately 20 billion repetitions of “Bim Bam.” Perhaps the serenade would be broken up only by the occasional 20-round singing of “Hokey Pokey” (which is requested by saying, “Pokey? Pokey? Pokey?”) and/or break for a few rounds of Gangnam Style (requested by saying, ‘Whoop? Whoop? Whoop?). And of course, we would eat only cookies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That part doesn’t sound so bad, actually. I do love cookies.
But here’s the thing: I’m not as irritated by this as I thought I’d be. I’m not as irritated as I once was, when I drove around town with my two boys six years ago or so, endlessly listening to the
Really Rosie
standard “Alligators All Around.” (“A, Alligators All Around…B, Bursting Balloons….”).
Like most things in life, you have a choice: you can see them as irritating or as funny. And it is funny. It’s cute that someone can derive so much happiness from the endless repetition of a song. Each time is a reminder that to these little people, everything in the world is new and to be savored as much as possible. And if I can keep that in mind as I sing “Bim Bam,” I’ll be able to hold onto sanity for one more day.
Bim, bam, bim bim bim bam…
