I read an entire book last week. I know that is not generally cause for celebration unless you are, say, a 5-year-old, but it was a milestone for me. Sadly I can count on one hand the number of books I have finished since my two-year-old was born. Emphasis on finished. I have started many books.
I used breastfeeding as an excuse to leave a room and binge-read the Hunger Games trilogy because nothing helps you lactate like a story about children who murder one another.
I also read Tina Fey’s book because it was Tina Fey.
Other than that my reading habits have spiraled into the abyss of kindergarten tales, board books and the occasional IKEA catalog. For me, reading has become another casualty of parenthood – right up there with getting a full night of sleep, having privacy in the bathroom, and sitting down while I eat. It just doesn’t happen anymore. I try when I finally get a chance at 10:00 pm, but I fall asleep within 5 minutes. Is book-induced narcolepsy a thing? If so, I have it.
But last week I overcame the odds and managed to read Gone Girl. I was racing to finish because I’m going to see the movie with a gal pal (my apologies for using the term ‘gal pal’). Nothing motivates me like the promise of buttery popcorn and time
away from my family with a dear friend.
Now I’m hoping to sustain the momentum and get back on the reading train because a) I realized how much I miss it and enjoy it, and b) my 6-year-old has become a voracious reader and she suddenly no longer wants or needs me to read with her.
I’m not so sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, I now have the opportunity to read for myself. Last week we sat in bed together each reading our own books. I loved it.
On the other hand, I withstood hours of BOB books, Fancy Nancy and Pete the Cat, only to be cast aside once she finally starts reading the good stuff. If she thinks she can read Harry Potter without me, she is mistaken.
Watching my kid learn to read has been one of my favorite milestones. I get giddy when I walk into a room and find her with her nose in a book. Of course at this pace, she will probably be reading more complex novels than I do by the third grade, so that will be fun and embarrassing for both of us.
In the meantime I need to find myself a new book. I don’t want to overreach and pick something too intellectually challenging. I need something easy. Something achievable. Let’s be honest, I need something that would appeal to an angst-ridden pre-teen who likes implausible story lines and then I *might* stand a chance of actually finishing it.
I’m coming for you, Harry.