When my oldest daughter was a baby, and I was bored being at home all of the time, we used to go to the thrift store and look at books to pass the time. And we’d buy them. Who am I kidding? I wasn’t just looking. I was buying. I’d put my little daughter in a shopping cart and she’d eat Cheerios, constantly dropping them on the floor while I scoured the used books.
Often, I would purchase children’s chapter books. I imagined my chubby baby as an older school girl who would find delight in the same books I had found delightful. Beverly Cleary’s Ramona Quimby, Number the Stars, Anastasia, Roald Dahl, Louis Sachar, and Nancy Drew. I bought here and there, but not too many. I didn’t realize the day would come so quickly that she would read them.
Now she is 11 and she loves to read. She’s gone through almost all of the books I bought during her babyhood. There aren’t enough! I feel as if I need to get more, although our local library trips fill in the gaps. Here’s a photo of those books on my shelf. They are waiting now for my second daughter to grow up a little. I can’t believe the time I imagined for their use has almost past.