My Daughter’s Books

I’d already been doing a lot of thinking about how to frame this blog, and then Meg’s comment about finding a lens through which to write pushed me further. I’m going to use this month to try on some lenses and see how they work for me. If I hit on one that feels right, I’ll stick with it.

Here’s one to try on: my daughter’s books.

At 19 months, my daughter loves books. And I admit: I’m psyched. Before becoming parents, Pat and I both really looked forward to reading to our children. We’re loving that she loves to be read to, loves looking at books, and has started “reading” books to us.

There are books that comfort her (Goodnight, Moon– a book that has comforted generations of sleepy kids). There are books that make her laugh and laugh (Potty, Hippos Go Berserk, Eight Silly Monkeys). There are books that make her happy (The Family Book), and there are books that just engross her (The Very Hungry Caterpillar).

She’s destroyed her fair share of books, too (something about the Clifford book – she loves it, and she loves ripping pages out of it and coloring on the back cover).

Already, though, these books are a part of her childhood and a part of our memories. She’s leading the way, letting us see books through her eyes, telling us stories, opening new worlds to all of us.

I think I have a lot to write about through this door.


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