I have a stepgrandson who is 15 months old. Awwwww. I have never seen the little guy due to the fact that the parents live across the country and I have had varying health issues which have stopped me from traveling. His grandfather, Devoted Spouse visited him when he was a baby and also gets to go visit next week. Darnitall – I want to go, too. Sigh.
Instead of my being there, little Chase will simply have to have his Grandfather read to him from one of the books I choose to send — oh goody a trip to Barnes and Noble is in order.
Off to Barnes and Noble I toddle, waddle, limp, whatever. I wander back to the Children’s Section and immediately I am in sensory overload. It’s big. It’s full of books of all shapes, sizes, colors, and textures. It is broken down by age and type of material. There were little pink things, and dinosaurs, and superheros. I just stood there in the 0-3 section looking at whatever would attract his attention — preferably something with lots of colors he could giggle at while his Grandpa read this silly little book to him.
I must have looked terribly out of my element because a young woman came up to me and asked, “Do you need some help?” I smiled back at her and admitted that I was trying to find something for my 15-month old grandson and I didn’t know what to pick. She then said to me “What does he like to read?” Let me repeat that for you so it sinks in fully. “What does he like to read?” He’s FIFTEEN MONTHS old; I dunno, maybe War and Peace with fulll color pictures? Do you have the latest Stephen King available in the 0-3 age range perhaps? Or how about a good mystery – I’m sure that would keep him firmly in his little seat until his next diaper dump.
I thanked her and said that perhaps I should just wander around until something caught my eye and she walked away. I actually settled on a bound series of Golden Books with about 5 different stories and a lovely (although it’s too old for him yet) book of Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit series (his grandfather and I both loved those stories as children).
Sometimes it’s not the clowns or the spiders that scare me — it’s the “normal” people I encounter.