I am part of the crowd having kids a little later than “they used to.” I don’t mind telling you I was 29 when I had my first and 32 when my second was born. It was a great decision and I would do it the same every time.
There was an interesting side effect though. I lived enough time as an adult to have a solid idea of who I was before I had kids. (Well, I thought I did anyway. Those sorts of things definitely change.) So when I had my first child and left my (terrible) job to stay home with her, my entire life became about her. Again, I would not change that.
What I noticed though, was that the longer I stayed home being a full-time mom, and I do mean Full-Time, I started to be less “me.” I still wrote sometimes and read sometimes but it wasn’t the same. Even after I joined a writing group and had a couple successful NaNoWriMos under my belt something was still missing.
I started forging a new me when I discovered conventions. It was glorious. I talked to people (a major deal for me) and learned new things and read more books. Well, I added more books to my list. The actual reading time dropped significantly a month out from the convention.
But last year something clicked. My kids are a little more independent, I played fewer games on my phone, I got more into graphic novels. I read way more than I had in previous years. And I felt more like the old me.
I felt like the girl who walked to school while reading a book. The girl who had a special book for breakfast and one for bedtime. I remembered the joy of consuming story after story.
I’m still a Full-Time mom and I’m also a burgeoning author. I’m tiptoeing my way into fandom via conventions and Twitter. I’m figuring out who I am.
But I’m also remembering who I am. And I am a reader.
Has anyone else had a rekindled relationship with reading lately?