Mia can read. I mean, she isn't diving into Nietzsche or anything, she's no savant, she's five and she reads like a five year old. But she reads, she definitely reads. She gets better, noticeably better, every single day. And I know that's how it happens, I know there is a general tipping point where they go from struggling to sound out cat to struggling to sound out antidisestablishmentarianism, and I know that given all the various components of her upbringing and opportunities and development it would be far more shocking if she weren't learning to read than that she is, but I can't help it. I am in awe.
I am amazed when she figures out backpack. I want to stand up and cheer for pigpen. And I don't know why. It isn't alchemy, it is just reading, something I have been doing myself for over thirty years. But my baby, my baby can read entire books, it amazes me.
Is/was it like that for you? Is there something in particular about reading that lends a mystique, or did you get equally excited about walking and putting on socks and all those other milestones?