Taming the Wild Beast

My mother is very into this concept of playing Mozart to the baby. She says it increases IQ. Any old classical music won't do, she says, it must be Mozart. So far, she has offered no explanation as to why Mozart in particular holds this power over the likes of Beethoven and Bach, or even Jon Bon Jovi for that matter. If only Amadeus knew when he wrote the first movement of his Sonata in C or the third movement of his Sonata in A that yuppie mothers across the First World – who wouldn't willingly listen to his symphonies for most of their young adult lives – would someday blast Eine Kleine Nachtmusik across the living room with hopes that junior may someday win a scholarship to Harvard (oh, never Yale). Of course, Mozart could never have conceived of Ipods and speaker systems and while he wrote his first symphony at the age of five, it probably wasn't considered appropriate to plop the babe in the Bjorn and haul him off to a "show" in those days. I must conclude that any IQ-increasing qualities were purely coincidental. So, per my mother's instructions, I am currently playing Mozart while Sawyer clings to my shoulders and I type (must multitask these days). I watch closely to see how Sawyer reacts – perhaps I can witness the mental development in action. He is drooling all over the sleeve of my red silk pajamas. He seems to have mistaken my shoulder as a source of food. He is, in fact, leaving a slime trail of chunky white slobber everywhere he moves his mouth. There is a phenomenal amount of saliva being produced here. My entire shoulder is soaking wet. He is now letting out a high pitch squeal of protest, having found no food in the shoulder region. Hmmm, not exactly a genius yet. I decide to conduct an experiment.* I pop in some Kenyan tribal hymns. Sawyer sits content in my lap sucking on a Nuk and staring at the ceiling. He is drifting off. He is asleep. Yippee. I'm off to take a shower. Now THAT's genius.
*This experiment is neither scientifically sound nor fair.