I remember a time when bedtime reading meant baby Maddie and I, snuggled close in the rocking chair in her pink bedroom. Her, just an infant and me, a new mom. The two of us creating a bedtime ritual that would last forever. Those early days of bedtime reading would help define who I was becoming as a mom, and those days planted a love of reading in Maddie which still shines so strong.
I remember a time when bedtime reading meant Maddie, a tiny baby Kate, and I sitting on the floor of Maddie’s bedroom. Maddie growing taller and the stories growing longer. Some stories were already forever imprinted on her heart. Katie, a tiny infant, sleeping soundly in my arms, listening to the sound of our voices filling the room with story. We welcomed our new baby girl, wrapped in pink, into our family by welcoming her into our reading time. It turns out my lap was plenty big enough for two.
I remember a time when bedtime reading meant divide and conquer. Me, reading to Maddie. My husband in the room next door, reading to Katie. Each girl developing her own story preferences, each parent adding their unique voice to the story. Our voices tangling together in the shared hallway outside the girls’ bedrooms. The days ending with two quiet voices whispering “good night, I love you” and two doors gently closing.
It seems once again our bedtime reading is changing. The four of us, together once more, gathered on the floor of Katie’s pink bedroom. This time it is Maddie’s voice that fills the air, punctuated with Katie’s giggles. There will be a time when I will remember this, too: