Favorite voices

Cleo's not yet at the age where she responds to the pronunciation of her name - to her, I guess, "Cleo" is just one more of the many nonsensical noises ("oatmeal," "toothpaste," or "defensive back") that she might overhear in a day. That means, of course, that we can gossip about her without inspiring any more interest on her part than if we were discussing, say, Brazil's foreign policy. But if she hasn't yet picked up on the meaning of her name, she sure does seem attuned to the sound, or the timbre, of certain voices.

Neither L. nor I have really developed, I'm sad to report, a really good, mealy-mouthed, full-cute-on baby talk voice. Some of our friends have masterful versions of the voice and even strangers who smile at Cleo in the store will sometimes bust out a bouncy, squealy version of baby talk. I'm always impressed, and curious as to where the talent comes from: is it genetic? was it something that was taught in Home Ec? Regardless, as Rummy taught us, you have to go to war with the army that you have, and so L. and I usually speak in simple, quiet, loving tones, and hope that that's good enough.

It seems to be; she often turns her head at the sound of one of our voices. Still, when we up the ante by trying on alternate voices of various sorts, the rewards can be high: an oafish DA DHU DA DUH DHUM that I've been offering over the past week or so has drawn some great smiles and one long burst of weirdly adult laughter. And L.'s got a wonderful soothing voice for the last few minutes of the day, as Cleo starts to slip into sleep. Somewhere, I imagine, these voices are becoming the core memories of her childhood.

But the other day it was neat to see her really respond to a wholly separate set of voices: to a CD by an a cappella band called Take Six. My folks had brought the CD with them on their last visit; it came recommended by a colleague - thanks, Kent! - and while baby taste is incredibly hard to predict (really? the plush blue monkey doesn't appeal?), this one hit the spot. As soon as the first track began, her eyes left her toy and turned toward the CD player. And while she rarely listens for more than 10 or 15 seconds at a time - c'mon, folks; she's 4 months old - she really does seem to listen to it.

When I began this blog, I wondered when she and I would really be able to listen to music together. And, so far, the answer's been, well, Not yet. Beethoven evinces no reaction; Chet Baker inspired only the occasional babble, and a general yawn. But Take Six clearly engaged her on some level. And maybe that makes sense: composed purely of voices, and of voices much more musical then ours, it's music that's built around something she knows.

It may still be months, or years, before Cleo and I listen to a piece together in any meaningful sense of the word. But it was fun nonetheless to see that one doesn't always have to use baby talk to interest a baby's ears.