It dawned on me last night as I finished Death Comes for the Fat Man by Reginald Hill that I stopped reading when Henry was born because reading simply took me too far away from the present moment.
It's a relief to be able to get lost in a book again, even if Cary interrupts me every so often to make me watch a hockey replay.
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I thought parenthood was about desperately wanting to be taken away from the present moment and possibly being lucky enough to join the witness protection program. Am I missing something?
Megan, it isn't necessarily that I wanted to be in the present moment but that going back and forth was too difficult and I couldn't enjoy the book!
Indeed! Now if I could just convince Gus to turn down the volume on his DS so I can actually concentrate on the book. :)
I just finished "Escape" by polygamist wife Carolyn Jessop - not the best written book out there, but engaging (and enraging at the same - http://www.slate.com/id/2189275/).
I'm enjoying the peacefulness of a four-year-old little girl who entertains herself while I can. I have a sinking suspicion I'm carrying a very busy, very active little redheaded boy (though we won't know until he/she arrives in April!). :-)
Thanks for clarification!
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