“No te asombres, si una noche, entro a tu cuarto y nuevamente te hago mía!”
I sway to Romeo Santos‘ “Eres Mia” and baby boy kicks. “Aw you like that?” I ask while rubbing my belly. He kicks again and I move the bluetooth shower speaker closer to my belly.
“Si tu te casas el día de tu boda le digo a tu esposo con risas…”
He kicks again. Hard. And I get it. My baby boy is totally digging Santos’ music because who doesn’t? Romeo sells out Madison Square Garden and even white people sing along. Badly.
I walk over to the living room and tell Boo how much our baby loves Romeo. “That’s right!” Boo exclaims, “he’s going to come out of your vagina dancing!”
“But what if he expects to hear Romeo’s high-pitched voice when he comes into the world? He might think he’s his Daddy,” I reply with a chuckle.
“Damn, you’re right. Let me talk to him.” Boo bends over to get closer to my protruding belly and speaks to our baby boy. Baby talk, baby talk, coo, coo, coo. He waits and nothing.
“He’s not moving,” I say.
Boo tries again. Baby talk, baby talk, coo, coo, coo. Crickets. Actually, no, if it were crickets we’d hear something.
“Sorry Boo,” I respond sympathetically.
He shrugs and walks to the kitchen, sulking. I connect the speaker to my iPhone again.
“Que solo es prestada la mujer el que ama…porque sigues siendo mía (mía mía mía)”
Baby boy begins to dance again, but I don’t say anything to Boo to spare his feelings. Romeo won this time; he’s pretty much always winning. And baby boy just can’t seem to get enough of him. So much that he might believe Romeo is his daddy, and his first word might just be, “Gostoso.”