As anyone who has ever met me can confirm, I love to read. I honestly cannot remember a time I haven’t loved to read.
It was quite a common occurrence for me to finish an entire book series in a week. All of my handbags are big enough to fit a book or 2, I perfected the skill of walking (in heels) and reading. If there was even a 2 minute wait somewhere, my book was out and I would read as much as possible.
My love of reading seems to have been inherited by A. There is always at least one of his books around the house. If I dare to put them all on his bookshelf? They are almost immediately pulled out and handed to either me or C.
A has his favourites too, “On the Farm” with the woof and moo and chook; “Where is the Green Sheep” to point at the Up sheep and the Down sheep, the Band sheep and the Clown sheep, to ask “where?”; “Peek-a-boo Rainbow” with the shiny apples, pretty flowers, leaping frogs and to say “ooooh pretty” at the rainbow; “That’s Not My Elephant” to feel the rough ears, leathery trunk and squashy feet. C and I know them by heart, and why wouldn’t we? It’s not like A follows us around the house with them, shouting at us until we can sit down and read to him, and re-read the same book 5 times in 1 sitting…oh wait, that is exactly what he does!!
I think the last few books I have read (of my own) have taken at least a month to get through, squeezing in a few chapters before bed, staying up later than is smart and binge drinking coffee to get through the day; and repeat every day, just to be able to read as much as possible.
I’ve been told recently that having a 16 month old following me around with a book to read, the same ones over and over again, never able to skip a page as A knows what should be said on what page, is payback. Turns out I did the same to my mum. So all I can do is cross my fingers and hope that A doesn’t lose his love of reading, that it grows into a lifelong love affair with books; of knowing the joy of standing in a library or bookstore and feeling completely at peace in the world, surrounded by the characters he loves and the authors that bought them to him; of opening an old or new book and breathing in the smell that can only be described as “old book” or “new book”.
In the meantime, I will keep reading to him about Fluff the chick; wonder where the Green sheep is; help him find his elephant; and encourage him to sit and read to himself, so that I can possibly squeeze in a few pages of my own book.