“Wow, that’s a massive library of board books.”
I was surprised too.
Until I realized my child’s collection
costs about the same as one iPhone Pro Max
and a top-tier gaming console combined.
Public service announcement for new parents:
children’s books are not cheap.
USD 10 to 20 each adds up quickly.
“Why so many?
Aren’t those stories already on YouTube?”
Some are.
But I still choose books.
Because books are not just content.
They are experiences.
They teach rhythm through Goodnight Moon.
Curiosity through The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
Pattern and memory through Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?
Tenderness through Guess How Much I Love You.
Each page trains attention.
Each story builds emotional vocabulary.
Each rereading strengthens imagination.
This is not passive entertainment.
This is quiet formation.
A book does not demand instant reaction.
It teaches patience.
It does not flood the senses.
It invites focus.
It does not rush.
It develops depth.
And don’t even get me started on customized board books.
The ones where your child becomes the hero.
Where his name lives inside the story.
Where he is not just reading, but belonging.
Books like The Little Boy Who Lost His Name
do something screens never will.
They tell a child, subtly:
You matter enough to be written into a story.
Suddenly, reading is no longer abstract.
It is personal.
It is intimate.
It is identity-building.
When he sees his name on the cover,
his confidence rises quietly.
When he recognizes himself in the pages,
his imagination expands naturally.
That is not indulgence.
That is investment.
In self-worth.
In curiosity.
In voice.
So yes, they cost more.
They take time to order.
They require thought.
Exactly why they matter.
You rarely see the change happening.
But the child who closes a book
is never quite the same
as the one who opened it.
That is why I invest in shelves, not screens.
Because taste is formed early.
And so is character.