![]() ![]() ![]() Reading was something I could do with aplomb, and I thought the experience would be soothing for all involved - including my husband, who was sweating over instructions for a bottle sterilizer that looked like R2-D2. The one-handed stroller collapse that would become my signature maneuver was a mirage shimmering beyond a desert of sleepless nights. My diapering experience was limited to Cabbage Patch Kids. I’d been a mother for long enough to know how little I knew: My bathing and feeding skills were weak. My firstborn daughter was only a few days old, swaddled in a blanket printed with baleful teddy bears, when we made our first foray into the iconic picture book by Margaret Wise Brown and Clement Hurd. Not in a dainty, tear-dabbing way I’m talking Niagara waterworks, heaving sobs and a red nose. The first 25 times I read “Goodnight Moon,” I cried. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |