My baby’s got ‘The Wiggles’ — and sometimes, so do I

Today I would like to talk about a scourge that has affected nearly everyone in the known universe: The Wiggles.

They are not a new threat to the sanity of adults everywhere, but I have only recently felt the dastardly effects of the uncannily catchy tunes from four “mates” from Australia, and I feel that it is my duty as a journalist to warn everyone who may not know about this quasi-rock band and their non-threatening (but mind-crushing nonetheless) brand of comedic mayhem and musicality.

“The Wiggles” airs every morning, Monday-Friday, on the Disney Channel. It comes on right around the time that my 15-month-old son, Colin, and I wake up.

I grab his milk from the fridge, plop him down on my bed and turn on the TV as I slowly wipe the sleep from my eyes. My wife and I had hoped to avoid introducing television to our son until later in his life, but it is a slippery slope, one that often begins with Baby Einstein DVDs.

Several months ago, Colin was having a tough time teething. He was frequently upset and just couldn’t be comforted. Desperate to try anything, I put in a Baby Bach DVD that we had received as a shower gift.

Lo and behold, he was transfixed. Not only by the images, which first captured his attention, but also by the music. Over the next few months, especially those Saturdays that had me left alone with the baby while my wife worked, I would sit him on our bed and pop in that special little DVD, giving me a few minutes to read, fold laundry or close my eyes for a minute.

However, that one DVD was simply not enough. In our travels to the Peachtree City library, I discovered that they had several Baby Einstein DVDs to check out. I brought home a Baby Noah, which introduces baby to animals, and that led to Baby McDonald, which of course shows the viewer farm animals.

Soon, we had checked out nearly all of the Baby Einstein DVDs, everything from Baby Van Gogh, which discusses color, all the while playing classical music and showing fine art, to Baby Shakespeare, which builds baby’s vocabulary while they listen to classical music and poetry from some of the world’s greatest wordsmiths.

OK, so Colin’s vocabulary currently just consists of ball, dog and words that sort of sound like cat and cracker. These DVDs and the Baby Einstein books may eventually help him say some more words. Mama and Dada would be nice.

Now, we’re not allowing Colin to watch Baby Einstein DVDs every day and his TV viewing is still very limited, but I did cave about two months ago and introduce “The Wiggles” during a particularly weak morning.

The fact that he loved it and started bouncing up and down, pointing and dancing during the episode is what led me to turn it on again the next day. He’s not always into it, thankfully, but more often than not, he shakes his hands like The Wiggles and giggles during the music.

Curse that blasted music!

You have to understand. The music isn’t all that bad and that’s why I have grown to hate it so much. In a typical week of viewing, which is five separate episodes of the program, I will have heard at least three of their songs, three or four times.

It appears that every episode of “The Wiggles” is a kind of clip show, where they have just thrown together a variety of recorded segments onto a tape that lasts the necessary 22 minutes. There is no story or particular topic or moral to be learned per episode; it’s just a collection of “greatest hits,” many involving a big, red car or a chicken with hiccups.

This morning, even before Colin woke up, I found myself singing a song called “Bow Wow Wow,” which discusses which animals you don’t give a bone to and which animal you do give a bone to.

I know, I know, I brought this on myself. I am not the only one suffering though. In fact, many of you out there undoubtedly know what I’m talking about.

In fact, some of you may even have CDs from The Wiggles in your car. You may have gone on road trips and heard songs like “Where’s Jeff?” or “Hot Potato” over and over again, until that was the song that became the soundtrack to your life.

Imagine walking into a store with “Mashed bananas, mashed bananas” playing in your head repeatedly. It’s not very cool. In fact, it’s kind of scary.

It’s no wonder that I have steadily increased my diet of heavy metal while driving in my car sans child. Nothing blasts out the toe-tapping, happy jingles of The Wiggles like a song or three from Appetite for Destruction.

And yet, The Wiggles makes Colin happy and, as his devoted dad, I want him to be happy. So, I’ll put the program on in the morning and sing-along and clap my hands. I even used some of my iTunes gift certificates to purchase a CD for him, while borrowing another from a coworker who went through The Wiggles experience several years ago.

I know that this phase will one day pass and I’ll be able to introduce, or should I say continue to introduce, my musical preferences to him.

The lullaby CD I created for him and play on occasion at night features Jack Johnson, The White Stripes and Bob Dylan among others.

I grew up on a steady diet of rock and roll, and Colin will too. Mine will not be a Kidz Bop kid, no matter what. I vow to help him resist that tepid trap of terrible pre-teen pabulum.

Anyway, until Colin is old enough to raid Daddy’s music collection, just like I did, he can “Romp-Bomp-a-Stomp” and “Point His Fingers and Do the Twist” with The Wiggles all he wants.

In the privacy of my home, I’ll even join him from time to time.