bookworm

Dylan has a new trick: stalling bedtime. He knows that if we keep reading books, he doesn't have to go to bed yet. He'll do his little sign for book and say "buuh" in that sweet little voice of his. I fall for it every time.

Tonight while waiting for Dylan to unwind from his day, I layed on the floor of his nursery and watched from across the room as he selected book after book from his bookcase and paged through them. My favorite part was when he opened up "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" and paused at the fruit pages, babbled to himself like he was reading aloud, and then fluttered the final page like I always do when I read it to him each night. I melted.

And after he read himself a few more books, he carefully selected the "Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed" and hauled it over across the room (which was a feat because it is the largest book we own on his shelf). He climbed up onto my lap while I read it to him. Ok. Have I commented on the melting? Yeah, I melted again.
I sit here as I type, a blob of melted momminess.