Pär bonds with Small Tot through mysterious channels. He gets all excited to put his face near my stomach and converse with the baby, although he doesn't usually use words. Last night he started tapping away on me, listening to the sound his hands made on my newly-convex belly.

"Don't drum on the pregnant wife's abdomen," I said.

"I'm communicating with Tot! In Morse code!"

Tap-tap-tap TAP TAP TAP tap-tap-tap.

"Tot doesn't know Morse code, and neither do you. You're just pounding out S.O.S over and over because it's the only word you learned."

"Tot knows Morse code," Pär stated confidently.

"Then why are you torturing our child by sending a distress signal to which it cannot possibly respond?"

That threw him for a moment. I took pity on him.

"Or..." I suggested, "are you attempting to sing ABBA songs to it?"

"Yes! That's it, I'm sharing some of my Swedish heritage with Tot. 'So when you're near me, darlin' can't you hear me, S.O.S.!'" He tapped along in rhythm.

It is important for children to grow up aware of their cultural roots.

I'd better learn the lyrics to "Dancing Queen".