You haven’t really lived until you’ve listened to Baby Beluga over and over from the Maine/New Hampshire border to my house. And when I say Baby Beluga, I don’t mean Baby Beluga the CD, I mean Baby Beluga the song. Just for the record, that’s 63 miles or approximately one hour of Baby Beluga. I’m not sure how many times that means we actually listened to the song; it’s probably a three minute song, so you do the math. But I assure you: it was a very long time. It felt like this last hour (of our eight hour trip from New Jersey) was an eternity.

When we crossed into New Hampshire we were probably able to hear two or three songs in between each request for “Baby! Baby!” But alas, by the time we were crossing the Piscataqua River, it was clear that hitting the repeat button was where we were at. Don’t get me wrong, I like Raffi as much as the next sleep-deprived mother, but by the time we got to Kennebunk, we were kind of losing it. It wouldn’t have been as bad if just the song had repeated, but this particular CD was taped at a concert and included introductory commentary and what not. After the fourteenth time my mom (aka MK) and I started talking back to dear Raffi. Once we started, we couldn’t stop:

“I know a song about a beautiful whale!” he chimed.
“Me too!” MK said brightly from the back seat where she was further entertaining Joshua with two fire proof cell phones (another bad mommy moment).
“Shall we sing Baby Beluga together?” he asked in his saccharine voice.
“Oh yes, LET’S!” I replied.

Three minutes passed and we couldn’t stop ourselves from singing along.

“I know a song about a beautiful whale!”
“Really? Do you?”
“Shall we sing Baby Beluga together?”
“We shan’t sing Baby Beluga, we shan’t!”

But we do. We listen and sing. Again. And again. And again.

“I know a song about a beautiful whale!”
Groan, whine, gag.
“Shall we sing Baby Beluga together?”
“NO! No, a thousand times, NO!”

Blessedly, Joshua became very involved in the raucous game of peek-a-boo they had going with his blankie, and I slowly reduced the volume to a barely audible level. By the time we were a mile from the house, MK demanded, “Turn that thing off for God’s sake.” So I did. And he didn’t even notice.

Between the song, the phones, and my mom’s steadfast commitment to fascinating blanket play, he did not fuss even one time in that entire last hour of travel. I’m not 100% sure, but I think it was worth it.