Baby Safety Time

 

Rock-a-bye baby on the tree top,

When the wind blows the cradle will rock,

When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,

And down will come baby, cradle and all. 

Let’s tackle this little conundrum, shall we…?

The first line starts out well…

I mean, the ‘rocking-the-baby’ part.

I freely admit, I may have rocked a baby or two in my lifetime. 

It’s soothing.

For both baby and me.

It’s that tree top that rather sticks in my craw, so to speak.

This just sounds dangerous on so many levels.

How do we get the baby with said cradle into the treetop? Hmmm?

I’m picturing a ladder.

Iffy steps up.

Reaching from.

And somehow fastening at the same time?

This sounds like a job for several strong persons with proper safety equipment...

Employing modern methods of upping and fastening.

A lift complete with security rails.

Hardhats.

Safety vests.

Okay, those last probably aren’t necessary. But I like safety vests.

Bright colours.

Enhanced noticeability.

Go with me on this…

So we’ve raised the lift.

Now how do we ensure said cradle with baby stays where it will be put.

Hey. I’ve watched trees in the wind.

They get rather…boisterous and enthusiastic.

Like small children let out for recess.

But I digress…

That basket has to be fastened securely.

Bolts.

And maybe a steel beam or two?

Now the cradle is safely rocking in the wind.

Okay. I’ll accept that.

Ahhh…

Could we just stop the poem there?

With the baby happily—and safely—rocking in the wind.

You have to know the next lines are—needless to say…disturbing…

Because the poet (poetess?) blithely informs us that when the bough breaks…not if, but when…that sucker is going to fall?

BABY AND CRADLE AND PART OF THE TREE?!

FALL?! What the heck???!!!

And what idiot chose that bough?

Excuse me while I speak to my safety crew…

I’m going to have to re-do…

Rock-a-bye baby, safe on the ground (Can’t you just picture his little hard hat with safety vest?)

When the wind blows, it doesn’t matter because he’s inside being, you know, safe.

When the bough breaks no cradle will fall…because it’s outside, being a tree, and our baby is inside being a baby.

And down will come the bough, but sans baby and cradle (see above) because we’re not stoop-id.

I think it’s better…

And now, my Dad’s take on the whole strange tale of baby, cradle, bough, wind and tree…

My Dad had a speech impediment.

Sometimes, he said things backwards.

Oh, he could control it.

He just chose not to.

An odd trait for someone who was such a stickler for proper pronunciation at all other times.

And don't try to tell me that doesn't have any effect on a young child learning to talk.

For years, I thought the song, Rock-a-Bye Baby went like this:

Rock a bay bybee

On the tee trop.

When the blind woes,

The radle will crock.

When the brough bakes,

The fadle will crawl.

And down will bum caby

Adle and crawl.

You’re right. That’s not even English. But that’s how I thought it went.

And Dad said it made just as much sense his way.

I heard some kids singing it the right way and totally confronted them. 

Our conversation was as follows:

Me: What are you singing?

Them: Rock-a-Bye Baby.

Me: That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

Them: Let’s play somewhere else.

As years went by, I realized that we really didn’t put the dirty dishes in the washdisher.

Or that salt didn’t come out of a shakesalter.

And that my favourite ice cream wasn’t scutterbotch.

I said it anyway…

What did you think?

Today is Fly on the Wall time!

Where my blogging sisters, 

Karen and Marcia and I reveal 

what's been going on in our hearts, 

lives and/or minds this month!

You've read mine...

Now go and see what they've been doing!

You'll be glad you did!

Baking In A Tornado 

Menopausal Mother