I’ve read a book. Seriously. I know I mentioned it somewhere before, but much as I love books and reading, I don’t read, generally, because I am an obsessive reader and I just can’t stop once I’ve started. So my whole life runs amok, because I’m not so good with that sort of self-discipline, and I just don’t read fast enough to devour a novel in an evening. And I work and parent and and and…
The book is called Possession. A gift from a friend. Who thought I’d like it. And she was right. I stayed up as late as I could before my body gave out, then used the 3 a.m. potty wakeup as an opportunity to read some more. And I couldn’t stop. I sobbed all through the last few chapters. Sobbed. And when I closed the book, I sobbed some more, just to let it out. Then returned to bed at 6:30 a.m., only to rise at 9, no longer able to ignore the resident three year old who was quite ready to get up. So what did I do? I went back to the beginning and re-read many things I’d stumbled over at the start. It was a slow start for me, and maybe just a bit too erudite, but I’m glad I stayed with it.
Maybe it’s the second trimester thing. Maybe it’s the parent/child thing. Whatever it was, I sobbed and sobbed. But not in a tragic way. Mostly in a good way.
