In my life before children, I was a voracious reader. Books would be stacked on my nightstand, waiting to be devoured. My library card was nicely worn and a trip to the bookstore was soul filling treat.
In my first pregnancy, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d go through a book every couple of days. It was almost as if there was a premonition to get in as much as possible. The years following the birth of my children, held books about trucks, animals and trains than subjects of my own choosing.