I’m a total bookworm. In my pre-Sonny Jim days, a week’s holiday would see me easily plough through about a dozen books. One of my thumbs actually bends back a bit further than it should, having spent so much of my formative years propping open hardbacks.
And yet when I was pregnant I did not read any parenting books. And when Sonny Jim arrived I didn’t crack open any guides to motherhood.
I’m not even sure why. I don’t know whether they just intimidated me a bit. Or if there was perhaps a bit of arrogance – me being determined to do it my way. Of course, there was always Dr Google, and a million different articles online which I often dipped into, but to be honest, I tended to seek out things that supported my own way of thinking – rather than looking for other people to tell what to do. Continue reading