The first week after Jude's birth, Justin bought me the "Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" and "The Girl who Played with Fire." I haven't been able to put the books down since, regardless of my sweet little screaming weasel and the severe sleep deprivation he's been inflicting on us. Now I'm racing to finish the final book in the trilogy ("The Girl who Kicked the Hornet's nest") so that we can go see the film at the Angelika.
This is the part I hate, though. In less than a week I will have devoured the last of the three books and will be on my traditional "post-good-book-crash." That's usually when I can't find anything worth reading and so resort instead to moping around the house and/or pestering Justin while he cooks dinner.
Oh the sadness of endings.