At some point during my teenage years I paged through my mother’s yearbook. To my great surprise I discovered that Joan, my Very Own Actual Mother, was known for “always having her nose in a book.”

Whaaaaaaat?

In all my live-long days I never witnessed this. Mom. Reading a book.

Inconceivable.

Today, speaking as one on whom motherhood has also descended, I get it.

In High School I was voted “Talks the Least and Says the Most” in the yearbook. Unfortunately, there was a typo and it actually said, “Talks the Most and Says the Least.” Ha ha yearbook editor person. Very funny.

The point is, I was the nerdy, quiet kid discretely reading my Piers Anthony Xanth novel hunched over behind the boy in front of me during Geometry class. Reading was my passion.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BOOKS I’VE READ SINCE BECOMING A MOTHER?

Neither do I. But it hasn’t been very many.

Oh Mom, I get it now.

I get it.