With just more than eight months under her belt, L is far too young to have first-hand knowledge or recollection of the 1980s Swedish hair band, Europe.

She does, however, thoroughly enjoy their 1986 anthem (and chart-topping single), “The Final Countdown,” because I’ve dorkily co-opted it and made it part of her thrice-daily feeding routine.

My version has a variation; instead of singing, “It’s the fi-nal count-down,” like the boys from Upplands Vasby, I sing, “It’s the fi-nal spoon-ful.”

The song’s lyrics vary depending on L’s menu for the day. I’ve never captured the words in writing, but usually they have something to do with a little girl who likes [insert vegetable or fruit here], but is about to head into space and won’t be able to eat that particular item anymore. Much like the Europe song, my words are inspired by David Bowie’s ditty, “Space Oddity.”

Because of the theme, I bust out the song when L has a few spoonfuls remaining in her bowl.

I start early because it usually takes me a good minute or so to build through the keyboard introduction and first verse to the chorus. I do a mean keyboard impression, and as soon as I chime in with the “Bum-bum-bummmmm-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum-bummmmm,” L gets all excited. She knows a serenade will follow. And that the end is near.

As if on cue, it always seems like she truly savors those last few bites. One day last week, for instance, she growled in appreciation. Today, on the very last spoonful, she grabbed the spoon and chomped on it for a good while.

Perhaps she was pretending it was a microphone, singing into it herself. Like father, like daughter, I suppose. And there’s nothing wrong with that.