Reading on borrowed time
It has been a while since I last wrote here. In that time, life has expanded in the most miraculous (and chaotic) way: babies. With a tiny months old baby and a delightful toddler whose energy and curiosity never run out. Between feedings, nappy changes, and endless rounds of “why?” questions, I’ve discovered that "my time" is no longer mine to manage, but theirs to gift me in scraps. And yet, in those borrowed scraps of time, I still reach for books. Not as often, not as deeply as before—but enough to remind myself that the part of me who loved getting lost in stories still exists. Here’s what my reading life looks like these days: Bite reads: I’ve learned the art of dipping into books in the oddest moments—standing in the kitchen waiting for a bottle to cool, or sneaking a page while one child naps on me and the other builds a Lego tower. I used to devour chapters in one sitting; now I nibble, and somehow, even that feels satisfying. I did this kind of reading o...