For a couple of months now, Will has been reading to my gut before we go to bed. Both of us still had some books leftover from our own childhoods (I had even found a bonus box of old stuff that had been stored for years at my grandfather’s house), and once the pregnancy was confirmed and we passed that first trimester mark, we had started to slowly add more. At our big family shower, the invitation suggested that folks give us their own favorite children’s books in lieu of/in addition to a card or gift. We got some great titles.
To put it mildly, it’s been a whole lot of fun. There have been times when silly stories filled with goofy hard-to-pronounce names/words have had us both laughing so hard we cry (“Epaminondas” comes to mind). Will has also been practicing his skill with voices, which has also resulted in some hilarity. He gets mixed up sometimes, so it’s as if some of the characters develop personality disorders on their way to grandma’s house or the zoo.
Last night, we read this very old book that had been mine called “The Fat Cat,” based on a Danish folk tale. Essentially, this mild-mannered domestic feline goes on an eating binge, beginning with a pot of gruel (including the pot), his owner, two characters named Skohotentott and Skolinkenlott (names again), a flock of birds, a gang of girls, a parson, and an old lady. Rather than end up as a shut-in, however, the cat (un)fortunately encounters a woodsman with an axe. Upon threatening to nosh on the woodsman, the woodsman of course responds by eviscerating the cat, whereby all of his previous snacks come dancing out of the incision, smiling and happy (and not the least bit wet with bile or partially digested….how curious). The book is really a scream. We looked it up to see if we could find another copy (thereby preserving my old fragile paperback), but it’s out of print. No doubt in this day and age PETA would protest the sale of such a thing.
Anyway, as decent grown-up books and movies are getting harder and harder to come by, it’s just as well we now have an excuse to indulge in these things without feeling silly or creepy. To be honest, most of the time our TV is on Nickelodeon watching Spongebob or Invader Zim. The last movie we saw in theaters was Despicable Me (which we loved). Before that, it was How to Train Your Dragon (ditto). I used to think that once you became a parent, you were destined to about 8 years of Sesame Street and Barney the Dinosaur. I think maybe it won’t be so bad.
(Not to self: Based on my blog traffic from my previous entry, it seems as if you strike blog-hit gold if only you mention the word “vagina” somewhere in your post. Interesting. And sick.)