Genes are a wondrous thing

For the last several weeks, A has decided that her lovey of choice is a book. Yep, no snuggly stuffed animals or blankets for her, the one thing she needs more than anything to fall asleep is a book clutched in her little hands. I fought it for a few days, and then decided if she wanted to sleep with her cheek smushed up against a hard book cover instead of a pillow, who was I to intervene.

This evening, a good half hour after putting the kids to bed, I heard a strange rustling noise coming from A's monitor. I snuck upstairs and quietly opened her door, only to find her sitting up in her crib as close to the nightlight as possible squinting over her book of choice for the night. She looked guiltily up at me, and quickly closed the book and lay back down. I tucked her in with the blanket that makes me happy, and returned downstairs before the giggles erupted from my mouth.

When I was little, my dad used to have to come in and yell at me to stop reading, turn out the lights and go to sleep. As I grew older, my sneakiness increased, and when I heard him coming I would race to switch off the lamp. He figured that one out within days and began touching the light bulb to see if it was hot. I next moved to the flashlight under the covers trick, which was also quickly discovered and banned. After I began claiming (at the age of 9) that I was afraid of the dark and had to have the bathroom light on to sleep, I think he finally gave up and decided that it was my teacher's problem if I was cranky the next day and a truce was reached. I would read until my parents went to bed and then had to act chipper the next morning until they departed for work.

Apparently, A has more of her mommy's genes than originally thought. I always said I wanted a little girl to read Betsy Tacy with, and it looks like I got my wish. Although based on her book choice this evening (Thomas the Tank Engine) we may have to start out slow in the chick lit genre.