Before my kids were even born, I recall people asking if I was reading to them. That’s right, because as my body was working hard growing them I apparently was also supposed to be Mother Goose reading to them each day.
My answer was no.
While in the womb, those kids heard me talking constantly. I wasn’t concerned that they wouldn’t know my voice because I wasn’t reading to them every night. However, I did love to play music on my phone and hold it up to my growing belly. I would cherish those moments when I would feel the fluttery kicks and be certain it was because they were enjoying the songs.
I have probably horrified some of you who treasured reading to your growing bellies. Remember mom, to each their own. And if that does horrify you, I’d caution you that the rest of this might as well.
My kids are now five and eight and reading to them still is not something I would put in a category of things I enjoy about parenting. I understand how important reading to children is so before you think I am some sort of monster, I should tell you I am lucky to have a husband who loves reading to our kids. From pretty early on in our parenting journey, that became something that he took on. Of course with two kids, this means we often divide and conquer bedtime which then means I end up reading quite a bit to one or the other. It’s not like I refuse it, it’s just not something that I really enjoy doing.
Maybe it’s because reading makes me tired. Maybe it’s because my mind wanders to all the things I need to do after the kids go to bed. Maybe it’s because, as shameful as it might be, I just get bored reading or being read to despite how adorable my kids are. I love watching my Kindergartner daughter becoming a fluent reader and listening to her wheels turning with each page but I have a limit on how long I can sit there for. I also enjoy my son getting older and reading books that are nostalgic to me like Ramona or Wayside School. But, again, there are limits.
Honestly, I do feel a little guilty about this. I have memories of my mom reading to me for what might have actually been hours. I have never asked her but I think she actually enjoyed it. I missed that gene. I would much rather play a game of Go Fish or Tic Tac Toe before bed, despite knowing those options are not fueling their minds the same way reading probably is.
When people find out this dirty little secret of mine, they often ask if I read. Again, the shameful answer is not really. I love reading blogs and listening to audio books or podcasts. But that’s pretty much my limit. Once a year on vacation I might get wild and read a book cover to cover. I used to love reading which is probably why I feel extra guilty for that love not following me into my adulthood. But there you go. That is my mom confession. One of many, I am certain.
Do you love reading to your kids? Do you get bored? What mom confessions are you currently hiding? We’d love to hear!
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