As I was stepping out of the shower this morning, I heard a knock on the door. “Yes…?” I said, expecting to hear the voice of Kidday talk back to me since he’s the only one in the house who will knock most of the time when I’m behind a closed door. (I’m looking at YOU, Schmooops, my dear husband.) Except this time, Schmoops opened the door as he said “What’s Kidday having for lunch?”

I don’t know I tell him. And I don’t. I’m dripping wet with a towel wrapped around me. “I can’t — I don’t know. Whatever you want.” What’s he having for lunch, Schmoops asks again. “I can’t — I can’t… think… right now. You have to give me a minute.”

“Oh” he says as he turns to leave, “Kidday is crying because a song on his toy computer is sad. So he’s just lying in bed, listening to it over and over again and sobbing.” And as he says it, Kidday’s crying becomes audible in the background and I just start laughing my ass off.

I dry off, put on my robe, grab my hair brush and enter Kidday’s room. He’s lying down, head on his pillow, wearing his signature pout, dried tears on his face. Lovey in one hand, computer next to his head. Is there a song that’s making you sad I ask, as I brush my wet hair and sit on the bed. Yes, he says, it’s the song for the letter “N” and he presses it.

And the song snippet is immediately recognizable to me. It’s that song that’s always played when you see videos of the sunrise, or of spring time: birds hatching from eggs, time lapse of flowers emerging from the ground. I stifle a giggle at the thought of something so associated with life in my head making Kidday weep.

I tell Kidday that it’s normal for music to make us feel things and that’s what is so great about it. That when he was a baby, I used to cry when I heard a particular song on his projector. I would make Daddy skip the song if I was within earshot because I was guaranteed to start bawling. (Don’t judge — postpartum hormones… maybe.)

Then, I tell him that this song is actually a very happy song. That lots of times they play it with pictures of baby birds or flowers or new days when the sun comes up. I ask him if he’d like to hear the whole song and he says yes.

So, I scramble with my dripping hair to find my phone and Schmoops tells me we’re going to be late for school. Pfft. This is more important, says I. I sit back down on Kidday’s bed and Google search on my phone, but come up short. I decide to download one of those “name that tune” apps and find one that seems okay. Here we go! Enter password to download. Argh. Okay. Download complete, click on launch app. Now we’re in business. Oh, damn, I hope they don’t make me register. Schmoops opens the door to the room: “We need to finish getting ready for school; you two aren’t dressed. His lunch isn’t even done!” I wave him out of the room and say “okay.”

Kidday’s big, beautiful, brown eyes are looking up at me. Waiting expectantly to hear the song. I fear an imminent meltdown if I can’t make this happen soon. “Please don’t make me register. Please don’t make me register,” I chant out loud. The app finishes loading and a prompt to register appears on the screen. “Oh, hamburgers,” I say aloud as I think in my head “I !%*@ing hate you!%*@ers.” I register quickly, the app loads, I press a button and start humming our tune.

There are a few results. Hmm, interesting. I expected only one result as I have perfect pitch. (Ahem.)

“Morgensti… Morgenstimmung by Edvard Grieg. That must be it,” I tell Kidday. I go to YouTube, find it and start the video.

The music begins to play and we both listen intently. I close my eyes to illustrate to Kidday how refined folk like us don’t merely listen to music, no. We experience it, feel it through our bodies. I open my eyes as I hear some lovely strings in the background, then an oboe, now flute. It really is such a lovely song. I look over at Kidday and he looks at me with a huge smile on his face. Flute again, more horns, crescendo… it’s so, so beautiful. It’s — what the hell? My cheeks are suddenly wet. My throat is clenching. Is this happening? As the song nears the end, I’m full on crying, snot salty on my lips. I look over at Kidday’s confused face as he watches mine contorting. “It’s just so beautiful,” I manage to choke out. “Mommy’s crying ‘cuz it’s so beautiful.”

Schmoops opens the door to the room, presumably to remind me yet again that neither of us are dressed, lunch is still not ready and we’re going to be late for school. He takes one look at me, quietly shakes his head and closes the door again without saying a word.

Damn you, Morgenstimmung!!!