But...I'm a Bookworm!

Books are my thing.

I say this as I shrug my shoulders, tilt my head to one side and brandish a half-smile, half-smirk. Books invite and envelope me. They nourish me, encourage me, challenge me to think critically and fuel me to generate my own creativity.

But, I am a hopeless bookworm.

I find myself apologizing for my bookworming because there are those unfortunate times when I ward off person-to-person contact so that I can ingest a new read. Or, re-read an old read. ;)

Yesterday, I devoured Nora Ephron's funny take on aging in I Feel Bad About My Neck and Other Thoughts on Being a Woman. I felt like I was sitting in my living room with her and having a wildly amusing exchange about my own aging process. I needed to laugh. I needed to feel connected. Nora brought that to my day yesterday.

But, as I realized this morning, it was at the expense of a real relationship. Ugh, let me explain.

He initiated. He asked me to go.

There's been sporadic pain for a few weeks and then a lump appeared and seemed to make it's home in the center of his wrist. So, we're at the doctor's office getting it checked out. In between the signing in, taking a seat, going here for x-rays and the doctor popping in and out - there was a moment.

He was chatty. Revealing himself in a conversational, vulnerable way. He outright told me that he wanted to talk.

And, I missed it!

I totally chose my book over him in that instance. I was page turning. My nose full in the book and my brain so far away from where I was physically sitting. Next to him.

I should have been enjoying the alone time with him. I should have seized the opportunity to be allowed into his world and absorb all of the details he wanted to provide.

I missed it. And, I'm really sad about that.

But, today, I'm on high alert. Waiting for another chance. Knowing those moments don't come very often anymore.

Not when he's almost 17.