How did I get here?

I don't know when "reader" became a key part of my self-image, but it was well-established by the time that I started first grade the greater part of three decades ago.  I readily evolved into one of those girls who reads lots of science fiction, fantasy and horror; it might have been A Wrinkle in Time, or The Chronicles of Prydain, or simply seeing Star Trek in re-runs and translating that general inclination to textual media.

I would still define myself partially by reading; the amount of books we have in this apartment, even after a culling or two, easily tops 2000.  There might even be another 500... I haven't documented all the books on my LibraryThing; my GoodReads account is an inaccurate assessment, since it includes books that I've never owned, and there's many books I do own that remain unaccounted for on that site.

When I call myself "a reader," I do mean "a reader of books."  But I'm barely that these days.  I creep through books on Kindle.  I felt quite satisfied with myself last night for having read a book in one sitting, which I rarely do any more.  Only 3-4 years ago, I could tackle a trilogy in 24 hours or, more often, less than that.  And as I got older, my tastes grew more catholic, taking on history of various stripes, science, sociological works, feminist texts, literary theory and criticism, and, most recently, economics (anyone know a good text on Post-Keynesian theory?).

Most of my reading is online, or task-oriented, consulting a cookbook for the appropriate technique, timing, flavor profile, etc.  I'm lucky if I can have the freedom to revisit a knitting pattern or two.  I should watch less TV, I'm sure.  I can't tell if it's the fact that I often watch my son for a good portion of the day, use his nap for dishes, eating, and/or personal hygiene, then watch him further through most of most evenings, or that once he's down is when my husband and I finally sit down to watch one episode each of Fringe and Archer, usually sometime between 11pm and 1am.  Is this how women turn into those caricature mothers, stripped of self, of prior identity?  Will this change if we live in a home with washing appliances and an enclosed yard?  Will I last the 3.5 months until we have this, should my husband get a tenure-track position?  Will I last if that doesn't happen, and we move into a smaller place, putting so many things into storage, having no yard, but maybe a dishwasher?

It's not just the books, of course.  It's the music I don't barely listen to (putting it on a computer isn't the same as having it on a stereo), the knitting I'm not doing, the everything that's simply waiting for a place that offers more than a now-tree-obscured view of the San Gabriel Mountains.