Conversationally Speaking

Ah, you’re back. I know, I know. My caffeine high wore off and I couldn’t focus properly on your fuzzy green sweater anymore. I wonder where you go when I’m not paying attention to you…. Oh, but I don’t mean to interrupt. You’re leaning forward like you want to ask me something, tucking that wayward strand of reddish hair behind your ear as you frame your question.

Where do you find the time to read?



I shift my weight, re-crossing my legs on the other side, buying a spot of time. It’s a oddly uncomfortable topic. As no doubt you know from our weekly contact, my baby is about five months old now.

Well, I lick my lips, he was a bit of a slow eater to start, and I was falling asleep waiting at least thirty minutes for him to breastfeed, ten times a day the first month. So I started reading a book during our sessions and was soon reading more than four books a week using only that time. Not small books either, I shrug. Took me one week to blow through The Help by Kathryn Stockett. He’s faster now, bigger too, but I can still get through at least two books a week that way.

Don’t you love that books are so portable? So easy to squeeze into whatever rifts shuffle through your day? But you’re right, during those ten minutes my eensy monster is asleep without me, I’m unlikely to spend my free time reading, I stop to breathe deeply. Forgive my ramble.

What about audio books? you ask.

How did you know? I wonder, narrowing my eyes. You know me so well, it's nearly evil.

Indeed I am now listening to audio books while rocking the little guy into one of the naps he so resists taking, lying next to him every evening as he drifts away. One per week, at least. That’s on top of the regular old, flappable, page-style books.

Just last week, I finally caught up with Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo — something I’ve been meaning to read for ages — which is beautifully read and whips smoothly along.

Oh and there he is now, cooing to himself from the bed. I’ll bet he’s sucking on one of his socks, smiling up at his old friend the ceiling fan. I scurry toward the bedroom. Grab you some more tea while I’m up?