My baby like the raunch

Whenever Milo gets close to the melting point -- once his gurgles and coos have devolved into dissatisfied squawks that are threatening to become howls of rage -- I take him dancing.

No, I don't take him out to a nightclub or salsa bar. (Though I often wish I could. They have some stupid law in this province about not allowing babies into drinking establishments, which has seriously limited my ability to go to shows. What, are the authorities afraid that Milo's going to suck back a few too many highballs and then trash the place? O Lord, protect us from hordes of drunken babies!)

Instead, I bring him into our home office and crank the iTunes on Rob's Mac. Of course, the ambiance isn't as great here as it would be in a club -- there aren't any strobe lights or go-go girls in cages -- but we make do. I hold his long little 14 1/2 pound body against mine and shake my booty while he contentedly settles in for the ride, staring at lights and shadows on the wall.

Recently, however, I've begun to wonder whether I should be worried about his taste in music. There are certain kinds he enjoys and certain kinds he most definitely doesn't. If I try to dance to reggae or punk, he'll squawk and wiggle fretfully. If I play alt rock or 80s' tunes, he'll kick his legs and start to cry. In fact, the only two kinds of music he seems to enjoy are hip hop and disco. Hmm.

What's even more unsettling is the fact that the naughtier a song's lyrics are, the more he seems to like it. He's only 3 1/2 months old and already he's showing a marked preference for albums that have parental warnings on their covers. Though, as Rob points out, given his sole food source and main form of comfort these days, it shouldn't come as any surprise that one of his favourite songs is "Tits on the Radio" by the Scissor Sisters.

He's listening to bands that are telling him to "get retarded" or "move his booty." More specifically, to "shake that thing like we in the city of sin." He's learning that "all the freaky people make the beauty of the world." And he's often accused of being "an acid junkie college flunky dirty puppy daddy bastard."

I mean, really. What's a mother to think?

Here's my own mother, trying desperately to get Milo interested in a more wholesome sort of music. Clearly, he's having none of it.

p.s. My husband has just informed me that Milo likes dancing to reggae when he's holding him. He seems to be suggesting something, but I'm not really certain what. Surely he couldn't be implying that my taste has some bearing on Milo's musical preferences. I like my music to be a little headier than that. Yeah, that's right. Sure I do.