Oct. 17, 2015
Memory is a peculiar phenomenon. My earliest recollection is of my mother, pregnant with my little brother, patiently explaining how he would enter our lives. This memory feels like a distant dream—like trying to see clearly while submerged in water. I was just 3 years old. A few months later, my first vivid memory is of my brother coming home from the hospital. I can’t recall his tiny features or the sensation of cradling him, but I distinctly remember the blue plaid dress I wore, adorned with train buttons, and the thrill of being the first to hold him before our neighborhood friends.
Oh, my sweet baby, you are so brand new, so much smaller than 3, and you won’t remember these precious moments we share. It’s a strange thought because I will carry these memories like a tattoo, etched into my heart for eternity. The moment we met, how we instinctively fit together, and the beautiful (and occasionally exasperating) dependency of feeding each other.
Now at 4 months old, you blossom more into your own unique self every day. Alongside all the changes and milestones, I’ve noticed some endings too. This realization brings a twinge of fear—not because I dread watching you grow, but because I worry I might forget some of my favorite memories—and then how will I share them with you?
From the way you made a little “oh” sound after a series of sneezes, to how we rushed to capture it on camera but always seemed a moment too late. It takes me back to the lyrics of a song from my youth, crooned during my pregnancy: “Every time she sneezes, I believe it’s love.”
I remember how you melted into your dad’s arms during bath time, as if it was a reunion. The secret smiles you shared with me while nursing, often causing you to lose your latch—though neither of us cared. There was that time you cleverly coped with a sudden letdown by squeezing my breast and drinking from your little fist instead. And let’s not forget those cheeky middle finger gestures you flashed me while feeding, more times than I can count!
I can picture you nestled in that cradle—the very same one that cradled your dad and uncles years ago. We paced the floor, sometimes collapsing from exhaustion, before finally inviting you into our bed. Your sleeping face, framed by two perfect crescent moons of eyelashes, and the seashell imprint of your ear on my skin after you drifted off in my arms.
I’ll never forget the day you actually enjoyed diaper changes; all it took was me belting out Billy Joel’s “The Longest Time.” Now you light up with a smile at the very mention of the song when I lay you down on the changing table. Your face transformed with joy when you first discovered your favorite toy—and oh, those adorable dimples that appeared!
You chat excitedly about my painting of your dad and our cat, even if you’ve just finished crying. It’s such a joy to have someone who understands me as you do. Your every emotion is expressed with your whole being, without any hint of self-consciousness. You clasp your hands near your face when excited, smile at strangers, and your joy when waking up to see our faces is simply priceless. I’m both thrilled and terrified thinking about the day you won’t need me to hold you anymore.
These fleeting moments, the minutes, days, weeks, and months we share don’t fit neatly into any baby book. They are not milestones, numbers, or checkboxes on a page. Yet, one day, when we are both a little older, I want to hold on to these memories so I can remind you of them.
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Summary
This piece reflects on the bittersweet nature of memories during early parenthood, emphasizing the unique moments that shape the bond between a parent and their baby. It highlights the fear of forgetting cherished experiences while also celebrating the joy of growth and connection.
Keyphrase: Baby memories
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