As the girls enter the second half of their first year on earth, I’m becoming more and more obsessed with remembering.  I don’t think I ever believed anyone who told me they’d grow up so fast – after all, they’re babies for freaking ever, right?  But at seven months old, we’ve already moved through the round-the-clock sleep & eat fest of the newborn stage, and now we’re within sight of dropping bottles altogether in favor of solids (it’s like, barely a blip on the horizon, but still!  in sight!).  They moved almost imperceptibly away from the noodly-limb beginning, where they needed help holding up their head, and now we’re sitting up and crawling (almosttt) and moving around like nobody’s business.  And sometimes I feel like I’m missing it.

To be clear: I’m not concerned about the time I spend away from the girls.  I think it’s awesome that I’m able to provide them with a strong role model by being the breadwinner (feminism ftw!) and I think it’s AMAZING that our split caretaking schedule is allowing them to bond with their father – ahem first word is clearly going to be DADA not MAMA.  But I am, in general, not a super sentimental person.  I regularly purge my closet with a vengence, I don’t keep a ton of cards or letters or knick knacks around, and I NEVER print pictures.  I’m constantly trying to pare down my belongings and have as little as possible (whether or not I succeed is up for debate).


But now I’m afraid that I’m losing the girls first year.  That my focus on the day to day, making sure the girls are taken care of and the bottles are clean and the laundry is done and my work is complete, means that I’ve got very little time or energy devoted to memorializing the girl’s first year.  My sister- and brother-in-law bought us photo albums for Christmas – and even started them for us!  Yet it’s still on my to-do-list to get pictures printed for it.  My brother’s fiancee gave me a yearly diary type thing – it’s five years, with a few lines for each day – and I’ve done well on that so far, but you know.  Talk to me in March.  And, of course, this blog, which lately has been only their monthly updates and nothing in between.  There’s a lot in between, guys.

I guess my point is that I really, really want to have some kind of record of the girls’ first year.  And their whole childhood, if I’m honest.  But holy crap, life keeps getting in the way (seriously, you should see the state of my bedroom right now while I write this).  And it makes me so miserable to think that one day their whole childhood will be lost in the mists of my terrible memory.

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