Bad music for best results

When Sonny gets too fussy these days, an unlikely ally has been staunching the tears: The muse.

Sure, we've boned up on the techniques that certain experts proffer for soothing a baby - from shushing to wrapping him up like a sausage. But for an even better batting average, all we've had to do is cradle our young 'un, then croon any ditty of our own devising.

Note that just humming or chatting won't fool Sonny. However, cribbing from known melodies seems acceptable, so long as we make up the words to go with it. Don't ask how he detects cheating, but at least he imposes no other form of quality control: What's required, evidently, is a little originality as opposed to musicianship. Which is fortunate, since we have the combined lyric-writing skills of a frustrated alley cat. Some pretty dire stuff has likely already been overheard by the neighbours - tossed off on the fly and as instantly forgotten. We're talking efforts like, oh let's see...

You love music, kiddo, you know you do
So we'll sing this rubbish all the way through
Then you'll get sleepy, heavens be praised
Snooze now under your parents' gaze.

Why such drivel, sung to any tune or made-up jingle, should be preferable to a gentle rendition of 'Rock a bye, Baby' is beyond us. Perhaps Sonny luxuriates in the wash of utter absurdity we feel over what we're labouring at: The little critter just likes a good joke. More likely, we just gave up too early on 'real' music, and our neighbours may be wishing we'd persevered with approved lullabies.

Then again, cooking up nonsense-rhymes is rather fun - and a great break from nappy-changing.