Bedtime Lullaby: You'll Never Walk Alone

"Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart, and you'll never walk alone" ~ Rodgers & Hammerstein II

My dearest E.,

"You'll Never Walk Alone" is a song written by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. Little did they know at that time (in 1945) that this song would live on in the hearts of Liverpool Football Club's (LFC) fans all over the world, and how it would touch the hearts of everyone by inspiring them with the simple but oh-so-meaningful lyrics. Because of the message of this song, it has apparently become a standard anthem in graduations in the United States and during World War II, the powerful lyrics gave solace to many who had lost family and friends in the war. This song was so popular that many artistes recorded their versions of it, including Frank Sinatra (1945), Patti LaBelle (1964) and Elvis Presley (1968).

The popularity of the song quickly drove it to become LFC's club anthem in the 1960s and was invariably sung before and after every football game. The words "YOU'LL NEVER WALK ALONE" feature in the club crest and outside the Shankly Gates at Anfield (LFC's stadium).

Here are the lyrics to "You'll Never Walk Alone". Perhaps someday, you may want to sing this to your own little babe and nurture him/her into our family tradition of supporting the Liverpool Football Club!

When you walk through a storm

Hold your head up high

And don't be afraid of the dark

At the end of the storm

There's a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a lark

Walk on, through the rain

Walk on, through the rain

Though your dreams be tossed and blown

Walk on, walk on

With hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone

You'll never walk alone

Walk on, walk on

With hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone

You'll never walk alone.

Lullaby & Sweet Ditties

"The Lullaby is the spell whereby the mother attempts to transform herself back from an ogre to a saint" ~ James Fenton

My dearest E.,

Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard? James Fenton must've had a fierce mother- even so, capable of the most tender emotions when it came to bedtime. Whatever the case, I'm not an ogre, although when you grow up and become a teenager, I may be one to you. But remember that no matter what you may think of mothers becoming ogres, these ogres only want the best for you!

But I digress- what I really wanted to highlight was how much you love your bedtime lullabies. I think you love them most when I sing to you- and thank goodness that I can sing (I think!). I have a rather baby-ish singing voice, so perhaps that's why you inevitably nod off to La-La Land when I start singing quietly. These days, my repertoire of bedtime lullabies is slightly more diverse than what they used to be when you were younger. I interchange between "You'll never walk alone" (Lullaby Mix, as I call it); "Moon River" (Bedtime Reprise: I coined this!); "Precious One", a lullaby I made up, sung to the tune of "Edelweiss", and "Baby Baby", another lullaby that I made up sung to the tune of one of Noddy's songs from one of your favourite cartoons "The Adventures of Noddy". Sometimes, I sing to you Paula Abdul's "Goodnight my love" but I can't remember the lyrics of the second verse then, so I end up repeating the first verse and chorus all over.

Why do I choose these lullabies? "You'll never walk alone" because it's the Liverpool Football Club's anthem (and your father and I are avid Liverpool fans, or Liverpudlians, as we like to call ourselves!), and because it says what it says: you'll never walk alone; "Moon River" because I imagine your journey ahead to be like a river, full of winding surprises and of course, I'll follow you on that wonderful journey; "Precious One" because the lyrics speak of how you make beautiful things grow with your smile, like flowers, for example; and "Baby Baby" because the tune is cute and light-hearted.

Sometimes, though, you fall asleep in the car when we're driving home from your grandparents, because you've had a long day, playing with your grandparents, going for walks and drives, etc. When we're in the car, we play your favourite CD, Raimond Lap's "Baby Classics" comprising music by composers such as Beethoven and Mozart. And as you sit in my lap, clutching your little security blanket, I would feel your body soften and lean closer into my warmth, and you'd be fast asleep before I could say "Sleep".

Sleep tight, my little one. And the morrow will be ever more beautiful and awaiting your presence.

Fierce!

"He who defines duty for himself is his own master" ~ Dick Cheatham

My dearest E.,

You are growing at an astounding rate. I want to tell you, "Stop, take a breather!" but you race along the path of Growth, learning as you go along, leaving Love and Compassion in your wake, picking up Intelligence, Knowledge and Language along the way, cultivating Kindness while you stop to pick up a smooth, red-marbled pebble, feeding your Tantrums and Anger when you feel the need. As Tyra Banks would say: you're fierce. A fierce beauty coming out into her own, a little caterpillar struggling in the silky smoothness of its cocoon, raring to meet the Sunshine and say hello as a butterfly.

Fiercely independent, you want to do things for yourself, which pleases your father and I, of course. I want to laugh when I see you solemnly imitating me when I get ready for work in the morning. You pull on imaginary clothes, fluff your hair, apply face cream and deodorant, and then laugh out loud with a huge grin on your face. At meal-times, you insist on feeding yourself, you freeze up when I try to scoop a spoonful of food into your mouth, you turn and twist away from me and loudly reprimand me for trying to baby you. And when I give up and allow you to eat on your own, you smile contentedly, shoving noodles or rice down your mouth, showing me a thumbs-up sign. And you eat there, quietly and messily, food dribbling down your chin and bib. But we watch you with pride. Because you're steady and clever. Because you want to be independent. Because you want to grow up and be an adult.

Your father and I recently bought you a life-sized (as in life baby-sized) kitchen cabinet and cookery set, complete with a plastic stove, baking oven and microwave oven, plastic foods, little utensils, casseroles and dishes, a water tap and sink and a kitchen roll holder. You fuss over your new toy for hours on end, humming happily to yourself as you busy yourself with preparing a vegetable casserole or sniffing in glee when you open the plastic oven and the imaginary scent of a lightly roasted chicken waft through the doors. You wash your hands as you ready yourself to chop up little onions on the cute, little, pink chopping board. You serve me beautifully with a piece of blackberry pie on a purple plate, passing me a little fork, urging me to taste the fruits of your labour. Methinks you could be the next wonder chef, cooking up a storm in your kitchen, inviting friends over to cosy lunch and dinner parties.

I look at you with wonder all the time. I am afraid that if I turn away for a second, you will grow out of your current antics and present me with something new to wonder about. And although the prospect of something new is always amiable to me, I want to hold each moment that I have with you in perpetuity. Your father and I talk about you all the time, and we'd say, "Remember when E. was 3 months old and she would do this?" "E. loved to do that when she was a tiny baby, remember?" There is nothing, nothing in this world, that can replace the feelings of reminiscence when we think of your babyhood past. Sometimes, your father and I pinch each other, wondering if we're in a beautiful dream and we hope that this never ends. And then, when the pinching begins to hurt, we smile happily and say, "Oh yes, this is real", because we see you sleeping beside us in bed in angelic repose, and when I touch your forehead and give you a cool light kiss on your cheeks, I think again, "Yes, this is real, and you are mine".

This doesn't mean that I don't wish to cultivate the independence within you. I know so, how independent you are, how unafraid of the world you can be. You seem to say, "Bring it on, World!" when you insist on putting on your shoes by yourself, and walking outside into the garden, enjoying the light evening breeze and the after-rain scent still lingering in the air. You want to walk out onto the road, unabashed and unafraid- but you are clever, my little one. You know that your parents can guide you safely to your destination, so you hold our hands. And we walk along, the 3 of us, trudging up that quiet tar road, passing our neighbour's homes, broken only by the tiny sound of you meowing whenever you see a cat. Such dreamy solitude. I can never be happier.

I am happy for you, sweet E., happy that you are a brave child and coming out into your own. I know that you're going to be oh-so-fierce in this world and face all truth & beauty and devastation & problems in your own stride as and when they may come. But remember: no matter how independent and self-reliant you become, no matter how successful and powerful, no matter what age, no matter the distance between us, your beloved Mummy will always be here to baby you and return you to your days of yore in your moments of fear, weakness and unhappiness.

Because that is what Mummies do. They allow their children to grow and fly away, revelling in their own freedom and independence. But Mummies also remain, whether physically or in spirit, and wait for the little ones to return to them someday. And that is our cycle of life.