Dr. Seuss Gone Awry

Being that my mother is a children's librarian, I promised her that I would read to my child(ren) and teach him/her/them to love books. Not too hard, since there is not much better than curling up with a spectacular book.

Except, 16 months in, and I'm already hiding books.

Bring on the criticism, but it's hard to feel like a bad parent, when I'm only doing it to for the sake of mental preservation. For the record, I haven't hidden all of the books, mind you, just a select few. One of which is Dr. Seuss's ABCs. After reading it no less than 8 times a day over the last three weeks, I've reached the breaking point in my sanity.

Actually, all of the books now hidden in various couch cushions are Dr. Seuss books - including The Foot Book, which Woodstock loves almost as much as hearing the words "goo goo goggles" and "zizzer zazzer zuzz."

According to my mom, kids love Dr. Seuss because of the lyrical quality of the books, the funny nonsensical words and the natural tendancy of (even sane) adult readers to exaggerate parts. They all combine to make a surpremely lovely experience for the children and their parents, until the repetition phase sets in.

Woodstock will drag her battered copy of Dr. Seuss's ABCs out and over, saying "Aay aay aay Book!" (A as in ABC). When I'm done reading it (or Himself is done reading it), she will hand it to us again and say and sign "More." The only possible way to break the chain is to momentarily distract her, shove the book under the nearest pile of junk and say, "All gone!" while trying to sound sympathetic. At which point you'd better hope that The Foot Book isn't anywhere to be found.

I've read these books so many times, I have them memorized. In fact, in the grocery store (near Woodstock's nap time) the other day, I could be heard reciting the ABC book from memory - just to hear her giggle. It apparently doesn't matter if I don't have the book, she still begs for more at the end, grocery lines or not.

So far, I've consented to read the book(s) multiple times daily, mostly for selfish reasons - who could deny the adoring, pleading look on her face and the warmth of a blessedly still toddler curled up in the crux of your elbow, bouncing up and down when you sing the alphabet song, pointing and repeating her favorite words over and over with you.

It's almost worth reading it a ninth time.
Almost.
Because even with all the syrupy sentimental cuteness, I do have a point at which the alarm bells start ringing, warning me of the impending arrival of the men in white lab coats.

Anyone want to read a great book to the world's cutest kid?