In my home, books are a constant presence—stacked in every nook and cranny. I’ve organized them by subject (it’s a librarian thing; misfiled books make my skin crawl), but my children have their own arrangements, too. You’ll find sports books, the beloved Magic Tree House series, and a haphazard collection of Kurt Vonnegut novels that seem to belong to a teenager figuring out life. These books occupy every corner—bedside tables, bathroom tanks, beneath couches, and even in the backseat of the car, tucked away in beach bags, and buried in old backpacks. Some have become overdue companions in our chaotic lives.
While I don’t have a penchant for stylish footwear or luxury handbags, I do feel a rush of excitement when stepping into a bookstore. The aroma of paper, ink, and freshly opened spines captivates me, and yes, I admit, I’m also an Amazon enthusiast. My home library has a decent collection, but I’ve mastered the art of weeding out titles that no longer serve a purpose. I know when a book has reached its end—like that tattered copy of Goodnight Moon—and I can recognize when it’s time to pass on a book, like The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding, to someone who needs it more.
If you were to peer into my collection, you’d see a narrative of my journey through motherhood. It seems my current selection is heavily weighted toward fiction, with hardly any parenting books in sight. (Okay, I did try The Teenage Brain, but that was an exercise in futility.) I’ve clearly moved past the parenting manuals and have settled into a space where I can immerse myself in the lives of fictional characters—escaping into their worlds allows me to momentarily avoid analyzing my own parenting choices.
I must admit, some of the eccentric characters I’ve encountered lately—thanks to brilliant authors—have provided me with a sense of relief. A shoutout to Carl Hiaasen for making me feel like a perfectly normal person in Florida! My go-to authors—Lila, Emma, and Jennifer—have a knack for crafting relatable stories that resonate deeply with me. And to the literary geniuses like the Tartts and Doerrs—kudos to your English teachers!
The books that have decorated my shelves over the past two decades could narrate a tale of transformation—from a young woman to an insecure, exhausted mother, often overwhelmed by the chaos of parenting. I embarked on a quest for the perfect parenting guide, only to realize that such a book does not exist. Parenting books often require a deep dive, as you find yourself dissecting passages that may not align with your family’s unique dynamics.
As the years passed, I transitioned from seeking faith and wisdom to craving humor and culinary skills, all thanks to a growing collection of cookbooks. Each phase of my motherhood journey has steered me back to the pages of a book—searching for knowledge, encouragement, and comfort.
In the early days, before love had graced my life, I turned to Leo Buscaglia’s Loving Each Other and Gary Chapman’s The Five Love Languages. Who knew I’d need a book to tell me that household help brings happiness? Then there was the excitement of impending motherhood that led me to Iris Krasnow’s Surrendering to Motherhood, a book that both terrified and fascinated me. What was I about to surrender? Everything, it seemed.
The early days of juggling two toddlers in diapers filled my shelves with chewed-up board books and a lineup of titles like Solve Your Child’s Sleep Problems and Nighttime Parenting. I discovered my preference for daylight parenting, and my desperate need for uninterrupted sleep only heightened my resolve to endure the “cry it out” method.
The arrival of baby number three, along with a bout of postpartum depression, brought forth a new set of challenges, and titles like What Happened to My Life? and Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids graced my shelves, helping me navigate the tumultuous waters of motherhood. Brooke Shields’s candid revelation about her own struggles with postpartum depression in Down Came the Rain resonated deeply with me, as did Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s timeless classic, Gift From the Sea.
A few years later, I ventured beyond traditional parenting books and devoured titles like Bringing Up Bébé (a nod to my Parisian daydreams), Free-Range Kids, and Duct Tape Parenting. I was ready to embrace a less hands-on approach to parenting, fueled by exhaustion and the belief that less is more.
During a phase of existential parenting angst, I found myself yearning for spiritual renewal and reached for books like Lauren Winner’s Girl Meets God and Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies. These titles quenched my thirst for faith, reminding me of the solace that reading can provide.
Feeling more secure in my role as a mother, I rediscovered my interests—writing, cooking, and even contemplating raising chickens. I devoured food memoirs like Molly Wizenberg’s A Homemade Life and Josh Kilmer-Purcell’s The Bucolic Plague, which nearly had me running off to a farm. The humor in titles like Yarn Harlot made me chuckle, as I realized there are many like me who find joy in crafting.
I also began to stock up on cookbooks, realizing that running was my lifeline, and I stumbled upon the “mother runners” series by Sarah Bowen Shea and Dimity McDowell. My own story even made its way into their latest release, Tales From Another Mother Runner. The talents of those who write about food, homesteading, and running inspire me daily, fueling my desire to create delicious dishes and share childhood memories through writing.
I know this fiction phase won’t last forever; soon enough, I’ll be reading about coping with an empty nest, navigating menopause, and seeking purpose in the next chapter of life. Books on grief will inevitably join my collection as I confront the realities of aging and loss. However, I’m confident that my thirst for knowledge will never wane. It was a moment years ago at the library that solidified this belief. An elderly woman approached me, requesting a rather surprising title: “Can you tell me where the books on sexual positions are?”
And there you have it, fellow bibliophiles. You will always find something to learn from a book—before motherhood, during it, and long after. What a thrilling prospect that is, don’t you think?
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Summary
My bookshelf reflects the evolution of my journey through motherhood, from seeking guidance through parenting books to finding solace in fiction. Each phase of my life has been accompanied by different titles that have shaped my understanding and experience as a mother. Whether it’s the challenges of early parenting, the quest for spiritual renewal, or the joy of cooking and crafting, books have been my constant allies. As I look ahead to the future, I know that my thirst for knowledge will always guide me.
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