One of my favorite reads this year has been The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow. There's a paragraph that I've thought about a lot in the months since I read it. The chapter, "On Loss," begins, "No one really remembers there own origins. Most of us possess a hazy mythology about our early childhood, a set of stories told and retold by our parents, interwoven with our blurred baby memories. They tell us about the time we nearly died crawling down the stairs after the family cat; the way we used to smile in our sleep during thunderstorms; our first words and steps and birthday cakes. They tell us a hundred different stories, which are all the same story: We love you and have always loved you ." When I read this, it resonated with me and reinforced something I've thought about often since becoming a parent. We are the keeper of Avi's days and memories from this time in her life. She doesn't have...
Book Lover. Teacher. First Time Mom. Forever Curious.