In my home, books are everywhere—stacked on tables, crammed into shelves, and even tucked away in the most unexpected places. As a librarian, I find it hard to tolerate any disorganization (it’s simply unacceptable). Some books are neatly categorized by subject, while others are arranged by my children’s whims—like the collection of sports books or the well-worn Magic Tree House series. There’s even a pile of Kurt Vonnegut titles on the stairs, signaling a teenager in search of identity. Books are scattered across bedsides, perched on toilet tanks, hidden beneath couches, and stashed in closets. They travel in backseats, beach bags, and backpacks, often getting lost and collecting overdue fines.
While I have no penchant for fashionable shoes or pricey handbags, I do feel a rush of excitement in bookstores, drawn in by the aroma of paper and ink. My home library has grown significantly, but I maintain a balance and know when to part with a book—like the tattered corners of my Goodnight Moon board book or a parenting guide that no longer serves my needs, such as The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding.
Upon reflection, the books on my shelves tell a vivid story of motherhood and may even mirror my current stage in life. Recently, I’ve noticed a preponderance of fiction, with very few parenting books in sight. (Okay, I’m slightly exaggerating; I did attempt to read The Teenage Brain but eventually gave up—it’s far too complex to decipher.) It seems I’ve transcended the how-to parenting phase and am now comfortably engaged in fictional worlds, escaping from my own life and the challenges of motherhood.
I must confess, some of the eccentric characters I’ve encountered lately—thanks to remarkable authors—have made me feel better about myself. A shout-out to authors like Clara Hiaasen for reminding me of my own “normalcy.” My fiction favorites—Samantha Lancaster, Emily Giffin, and Jennifer Wiesner—always resonate with me, making me nod in agreement as I read. And to esteemed writers like the Tartts and Doerrs, I can only say, “Bravo!” to your English teachers.
The books that have adorned my shelves over the past two decades narrate the evolution of a young woman transformed into a frazzled yet determined mother, often searching for the right parenting resource that seems to elude her. It’s become apparent that the perfect parenting guide doesn’t exist. These books often require extensive analysis, leading to more confusion than clarity.
As time passed, I evolved into a seeker of wisdom and humor, with my culinary skills improving significantly thanks to my growing collection of cookbooks. Each phase of my life and motherhood journey has propelled me into the pages of countless books—seeking knowledge, reassurance, support, and sometimes, a bit of tranquility.
In my early days, before love entered my life, I turned to Leo Buscaglia’s Loving Each Other and Gary Chapman’s The Five Love Languages, though I didn’t necessarily need a book to understand that acts of service make me happy. The first inklings of pregnancy drew me not to typical What to Expect titles, but to Iris Krasnow’s Surrendering to Motherhood, a book that both frightened and fascinated me even before I held my baby. What would I be surrendering? Essentially, everything.
With two children in diapers, my shelves filled with board books and titles like Sleep Solutions and Solve Your Child’s Sleep Problems. I quickly learned I preferred parenting during daylight hours, especially when my need for sleep became paramount, greatly increasing my tolerance for crying it out.
The arrival of baby No. 3 and No. 4, coupled with a challenging bout of postpartum depression, took me to unfamiliar territories, leading to the discovery of books like What Happened to My Life, Unglued, and Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids. Brooke Shields’s Down Came the Rain was particularly impactful, as she bravely shared her struggles with postpartum depression, helping to destigmatize the issue. I also found solace in Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gift From the Sea—a comforting presence during turbulent times.
A few years later, I began exploring the outer limits of parenting literature, devouring books like Bringing Up Bébé during my Parisian wanderlust phase, as well as titles such as Free-Range Kids and The Idle Parent. I was ready to break free from the chains of helicopter parenting and embrace the notion that sometimes less is more.
In the midst of my parenting struggles, I felt spiritually bankrupt and sought renewal through titles like Lauren Winner’s Girl Meets God and Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies. These books nourished my soul during a challenging time, reminding me of the importance of faith and spiritual growth.
As I grew more confident in my parenting, I began indulging in “me” books—those I wanted to read for pure enjoyment. I found myself drawn to topics like writing, chicken-raising, and bread-baking. Food memoirs like Molly Wizenberg’s A Homemade Life and humorous accounts of farm life, such as Josh Kilmer-Purcell’s The Bucolic Plague, filled my shelves with joy and laughter.
I also embraced cooking with the fervor of a culinary student and connected with other mothers who found solace in running. I discovered Sarah Bowen Shea’s and Dimity McDowell’s series for “mother runners,” even contributing a funny story to their compilation, Tales From Another Mother Runner. The camaraderie of talented writers who excel at crafting stories and creating delicious dishes is truly inspiring.
As I anticipate the future, I know my current fiction phase will eventually shift to titles addressing topics like coping with an empty nest and finding joy during menopause. There will always be books about pursuing passions and dealing with loss as life unfolds. Yet, I am certain my thirst for knowledge will never wane, a lesson reinforced by an encounter years ago at the library. An elderly woman, unperturbed by the world around her, confidently approached me and asked, “Can you tell me where the books on sexual positions are?”
And there you have it, fellow book lovers. There will always be something to learn from a book—before motherhood, during it, and long after. I cannot think of a more exhilarating thought than that.
Summary
This reflection on motherhood through the lens of a personal book collection highlights how literature shapes our experiences and growth as parents. From the early days of parenting with guides on sleep and child-rearing to the later years filled with fiction and self-discovery, the journey is a testament to the power of reading. The author illustrates the transformative role books play in exploring identity, faith, and personal interests, emphasizing that the quest for knowledge never truly ends.
Keyphrase: Journey Through Motherhood
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