“She started shakin’ to that fine fine music,” I sing along to the record as L and I dance hand-in-hand around our living room. He’s smiling brilliantly, hopping back and forth on his tiny toddler feet, throwing our arms up and down in an arrhythmic expression of joy. I’ve always loved to dance but never before motherhood did I just burst forth like this.
His ecstasy is contagious and in spite of all the freedom motherhood took away, being a mother has also freed me. We lose ourselves and I feel so full of love, love for this song and this kid and this life, and I don’t understand how my breastbone and thin skin manage to hold the hugeness of my heart.
The Pizza Underground sucks. I expected to see this sentiment echoed across the Internet but, to my shock, even Rolling Stone has gotten behind this horrendous band. I tried to let it go but just couldn’t. The truth needs to exist somewhere out there on the Web.