Where art thou Baby Natasha?

Where is Baby Natasha?

Well, I'm right here! Although that's not the Natasha that I was introduced to in one of the first books my mother read to me, entitled, you guessed it... Where is Baby Natasha? That baby Natasha was the lovable, pink Sesame Street rascal.

Of course, being a baby Natasha myself, I could truly identify with the plights of the protagonist of this beautifully crafted, complex story filled with the motifs of blocks, and baby doll. Or in other words, I thought it was really cool that they named a book after me, and that I was apparently a pink puppet with a bonnet, a green nose, and no fingers or ears. My mom clearly also got a kick out of it, laughing every time I'd respond, "I'm right here mommy!"

Eventually as I got a couple of years older I was introduced to Baby Natasha in "Say Cheese!" After getting over how honored I was to be staring in a encore performance, I read the book with my mom, only to find out that I will not say "Cheese!" willingly, unless I am given a block of cheese to eat in return. Ironically, looking back, it seems like something that I would probably do. Which means yes, I've always been this sassy. God bless the poor souls of my parents.

These first memories of reading do not only stick out in my mind because the titles included my name, however. Reading every night before bed with my mom was my first memory of establishing a true bond with her. (Lucky her, my dad got bath time.) Reading was our time. I was truly introduced to literacy in a way that made me feel safe, and ever since then reading has given me a sense of security, and a way to not only get lost in the work, but relate personally to the story.
After all, aren't all main characters, flawed but noble, just a bunch of baby Natashas?