I don't think I'll forget the big things.
I'll remember birthdays. First days of school. Christmas mornings. The moment my daughter walked into kindergarten with her backpack on and didn't look back.
It's the tiny things I'm afraid I'll lose.
The specific, unremarkable, completely ordinary things that are somehow everything.
"Uppy"
My son looks up at me, lifts both arms or grabs onto my leg and says "I want uppy." Just like that. And I pick him up every single time because I know the day is coming when he won't ask anymore and I’m not ready for that day.
My daughter is five and she still wants uppy too. She'll sit on the floor and say it over and over while I'm standing right there. "Uppy. Uppy. Uppy." Like if she says it enough times with enough urgency it will happen faster. It always works.
I know we're getting close to the end of uppy for both of them. I can feel it. And I don't know what I'm going to do with myself when it's gone.
The Words
My son calls How to Train Your Dragon "jalapeno dragon." My husband and I have fully adopted this. We saw the live action movie together this summer for their very first movie theater visit and we still call it jalapeno dragon in our house. He's getting closer to saying it correctly and I’m dreading the day he gets there.
Blueberries were "boo-boos" for the longest time. Then they became "blueblerries." Now we're dangerously close to just plain blueberries and again I’m not ready for when they are.
Oatmeal is "me meal." Cucumber used to come out in a way I genuinely cannot describe in writing but makes me smile every single time. But suddenly that is gone and I can’t even remember if I recorded the adorable way he said it. And somewhere in the last year he stopped saying whatever other impossibly cute thing he used to say for something else entirely and I can't even remember what it was now. That's the one that keeps me up at night.
The Laugh
My son has had the same laugh since he was a baby. Full belly, melodic, the kind of giggle that fills a whole room. I don't know exactly how to describe it except that it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard and my daughter has always been the one who can pull it out of him most reliably. I'm so glad I have it on video. I watch it sometimes just because.
My daughter has two laughs. There's the sometimes forced, slightly maniacal one she puts out when she knows something is funny but can't quite let herself go completely. And then there's the real one. When something tips her over the edge and she can't stop. She giggles herself into exhaustion, completely helpless, and it's one of my favorite things in the entire world to witness.
And those little baby and kid laughs change over time, maybe they become more reserved as they become more socially aware. Or their voices change as they get older. I want to remember the freedom of their laugh right now.
Bedtime
My son doesn't let me put him to bed anymore. Since I weaned him a year ago he slowly transitioned to only wanting his dad at night. On rare occasions I get to rock him in his rocking chair and sing his night night songs and I treasure every single second of it.
I miss the weight of him against me. The warmth of him. Listening to his breathing slow and his little body twitch as he drifts off. Knowing that somewhere in the dark he's rubbing his eyebrow the same way he has since he was a baby nursing from my breast. Those moments feel like a gift now in a way they didn't when they were every night.
My daughter is who I put to bed. We read books - usually about dinosaurs or the solar system, occasionally about a cat learning ballet. Then we talk about what we're grateful for. Hearing her mention her brother, or me, or something simple from the day reminds me every single night why being present in the mundane moments matters so much.
Then the lights go out and we hold hands while I sing her the same night night songs I've been singing for five years. Then I lay on her floor while she listens to sleepy stories on her Yoto and I listen to her breathing slow and I sneak out quietly and I think about how long I get to keep doing this exact thing before it changes.
The Physical Details I'm Already Trying to Memorize
My daughter lost her baby fat somewhere in the last year and sometimes I look at her and wonder where my baby went. She looks like a little kid now. Her hands and feet are still small because she's a small girl but sometimes she puts on pants she hasn't worn in a while and I notice how short they've gotten and it hits me all over again.
Her hair has gotten longer lately. Thicker and fuller with a little curl at the ends. I just noticed it the other day and stood there for a moment just looking at her.
My son at three and a half still has some of that baby fat but I notice his shirts getting shorter, his shoes getting tighter. The way he adjusts his hand in mine now - not just wanting to hold my finger anymore but fitting his whole hand into mine in a way that actually fits now because he's grown that much.
I want to remember their long lashes. The beautiful smoothness of their skin. Their little features and their tiny baby teeth before the first one comes out. I want to freeze the exact feel of their hands in mine right now at this exact moment.
Football, Peaches and YMCA
Right now my kids are obsessed with football. Some days they play for ten hours straight. Wearing helmets that are too big for their heads, tackling each other on the tile, bickering about who gets the fumble, coming up with bruises all over themselves and screaming touchdown at the top of their lungs. Pure joy and pure chaos.
They are both obsessed with peaches and mini muffins. My son cannot stand having messy hands and is always looking for a napkin. My daughter prefers to eat with her hands entirely. I meal plan every week and their joy and excitement for certain meals versus their utter disdain for others is honestly one of the funniest (and frustrating) ongoing experiences of my life.
My son is currently obsessed with singing YMCA. My daughter has learned the days of the week in Spanish set to the tune of the Addams Family theme song and performs it regularly. She also constantly puts things into bags and carries them everywhere. He almost always wants to have a book of some kind in his hands.
These things feel so permanent right now. In six months they'll be replaced by something else entirely and I'll barely remember this season existed.
The Thing That Drives Me Crazy That I Know I'll Miss
The loud voices. The bickering. The inability to contain their emotions so that they spill out physically with hands and feet in ways that make me absolutely crazy.
The way they always want to be touching me. Always. So that sometimes I am completely touched out and just need one single moment of not being needed by a small person.
And yet.
I know the day is coming when they won't want me to hug them or kiss them in public. When they won't reach for my hand. When uppy will be a distant memory and bedtime songs will feel babyish and they'll need me in completely different ways.
And my heart will break a little when that happens. Even though I know it's supposed to.
Why I Take the Photos
I'm not afraid I'll forget their faces. I have thousands of photos for that.
I'm afraid I'll forget the specific way my son rubs his eyebrow when he's falling asleep. The exact sound of my daughter's helpless giggle. The weight of them in my lap right now at exactly these ages in exactly this season.
Those are the things photographs are for.
Not the perfect ones. Not the posed ones. The ones taken on a random Sunday when they're playing with their dad and laughing so hard they can barely breathe and you just happened to have your camera nearby.
Those are the ones I'll look at in twenty years and feel everything.
If you want photographs that capture the specific, ordinary, irreplaceable things about your family right now, I'd love to help you make that happen. [Reach out here] to learn more about family sessions.
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