On raising a bookworm

When I was a kid I loved books. My favorite childhood story was "The Poky Little Puppy."

When I was a teenager, my mom used to have to yell at me to put whatever I was reading down and go outside and get some fresh air.

Now I am an adult, and little has changed. I still love books. It is a passion that has served me well, and probably led me to my current career. I love words. I love telling stories. And so, I write for a living.

When I became pregnant, I was determined to pass my love of literature on to my son. When Jim and I designed Scott's nursery, I made sure it included a comfy rocker and a bookshelf within arm's reach.

At the time, I assumed the pretty blue "book nook" (which holds approximately 16 stories), would be sufficient for mine - and my baby's -- needs.

But fast forward nine-plus months, and I can safely say that I am out of control.

I now shop for board books with the same zeal and fervor that I once reserved for an end-of-the-year Ann Taylor sale. I've spent enough money on children's literature in the last year to buy two Cole Haan purses and at least three or four pairs of fun, strappy sandals.

And yet, I can't quit -- even though Scott's room is starting to look like a Barnes & Noble outlet.

Books now spill out from the blue shelf, where they are jammed in, every which way. They are stacked five or six deep on top of the bedside table, where they bump up against a little red lamp. They are wedged in the table's single pull out drawer, and on its middle shelf. And there are still more, stacked neatly in a row, in his toy box.

Part of Scott's literary collection.

I counted this morning. Scott owns 61 books. And that doesn't count the new one I bought today. I am sure he'll love it. It's about sheep, who get stuck in a jeep. See? The storyline rhymes! Good times!

Yes, I know, I must be stopped. I've even convinced others to participate in my sickness. Both of Scott's grandmas, his Aunt Kristy and Uncle Martin, his Aunt Kendall and Uncle Sean, his Uncle Chuckie, and my friend Christina have all contributed to his ever-expanding book collection.

I love the way the little cardboard children's books feel in my hand. I love their simple drawings and stories. I love the way Scott shakes them or tries to chew them.

But mostly, I love the idea that maybe, just maybe, he, too, is starting to develop a love of books.

I've read to Scott since he was six-weeks-old. And now, bedtime is one of my favorite times of the day. It's my special, quiet time with him. After his bath, Scott kisses Daddy goodnight, and he and I sit in the big rocker in his room, have a bottle and then read at least two bedtime stories.

My budding book lover.

At almost 10 months, Scott is starting to develop favorites.

He smiles and looks at me when I read "So Big," a Sesame Street book that features a pop up Elmo on the last page. He squeals when I put on the big fuzzy blue mitts that bring "The Tickle Monster Book" to life. He giggles when I make the various sounds in "Mr Brown Can Moo...Can You?" and he happily bangs his hands on the pages, almost like he's trying to mimic the drum-playing monkeys in "Hand Hand Fingers Thumb."

He has favorite "lullaby" books too - the ones that I read last at bedtime, right before I turn out the light. Most nights we alternate between "Goodnight Moon," "I Love You, Stinky Face," and "On the Night You Were Born."

I know that he doesn't really understand the words yet, and that in the months and years to come, his willingness to sit on my lap will dwindle as he becomes more active and pursues other interests.

But maybe -- just maybe -- I'll be lucky enough to raise a bookworm.
And when he's an adult, he'll pick up a favorite novel, think back, and somewhere have a vague, but warm memory, of a childhood filled with magical words and stories.

In the meantime, I think I should probably consider investing in a library card.