First of all, thanks to all of you who visited in this week and especially to all of you who delurked. You’re all winners. But especially one of you. Keep reading.
If you’ve ever been to our house, you know that it’s filled with books. Every room has giant bookshelves chock full of them, including a floor to ceiling number (with a cool library ladder) that takes up an entire wall in our bedroom.
And it’s true that all these shelves became even more crowded when I discovered I was pregnant with the Hurricane. Because I immediately ran out and purchased piles of baby info lit in order to understand why heartburn was taking over my body. And for other things too. Probably. But as it turned out, even though I was way too exhausted to do anything productive, I found countless hours to read about which part of his spine was forming, how his eyebrows were lining up, why he kicked more at night, why I was turning into a mean lady. All of it.
Because I needed information.
I was craving it more than mac and cheese with mayo and peanut butter mixed in. And while I loved the books, even the bad ones, some of my favorite informational treats were those weekly progress emails that came to my work email address. They served as a gentle reminder in the midst of meeting requests, copy changes, event updates, et. all, that I was growing a person.
The thing is, I still get these weekly developmental updates. And what used to be my favorite e-read of the day, now gets deleted faster than Prozac ads. Because I might need Prozac. And also because the older he gets, the lamer the updates get. Something that used to be brimming with fascinating tidbits and trivia now reads a lot like this:
I’m not really sure why this encyclopedia of knowledge has slowly turned into a shopping channel of crap. Because it seems to me that there would be many more specifics to cover once he has emerged. Right? Well, apparently that’s not the case.
However, this last week, they actually mentioned a specific, suggesting that el Hurricane should be extremely interested in books. Which, of course, is so not the case. In fact, whenever I try to read to him, he waits approximately one second to grab the book out of my hand and throw it down. Because currently, as far as he’s concerned, books are for throwing, and really only good for throwing when you can’t find anything else remotely more interesting to hurl across the room. In fact, he firmly believes these book things should probably just be avoided all together because they are definitely the low men in the toy world behind well, um, everything.
However, apparently other babies across the universe are taking to them like candy. Because seventy eight percent of parents surveyed reported that their boy child is fascinated with books and often picks them up and pretends to read them. Right. Well, in our world, that has happened exactly, um, never. The Hurricane might have accidentally picked one up to throw it and destroy something. But that’s as close as we’ve gotten.
Yesterday, he was sitting around on his little singing training potty, when he realized things weren’t completely right. The potty was good and all, but it just seemed something was missing. He paused. Put a finger to his face cheek and thought.
Then he got it.
He stood up, went over to his bookshelf, dusted some cobwebs off the never-before-used items. And behold…
Happy reading to all and to all a happy weekend.