Before I had Bella, and indeed before she became interested in books, I somehow always imagined that when reading with my child I would be the initiator.
“Do you want to read a book?” I’d prompt. And she’d come running to sit in my lap, to pick one from the pile of books I had placed beside the chair.
For so long she wasn’t interested at all. I didn’t force the issue. I’d occasionally open a book and read to her but when she was clearly not interested, I’d finish the book and leave it at that. Somehow I assumed I’d always be the one opening the book, urging her to read.
But that isn’t how it has worked out at all. Instead I have this little insistent person shoving books at me all day long. I sit down to eat breakfast and have to fend off copies of The a Monster at the End of This Book and The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I sit down to pray and it’s Big Red Barn and
. I never imagined it would be like this. I have to confess some days I’m almost tempted to hide all the books.
