Holiday memories

Well, we made it through the holidays! We flew cross country together, braved below-freezing temperatures together, and opened presents together—twice (once at my family’s house and once with my husband’s family). It was our Little One’s first Christmas, and we made memories to last a lifetime. Santa not only brought E some great books and cuddly toys, but he also left some “baby skills” in his stocking—as E officially started crawling and cut two teeth! And all in time for Christmas. It was special. A special time for our new little family. A time that I will always remember. But my son won’t.

One of my earliest memories is running down the sidewalk to catch up with my mom. The reason I remember this little jaunt is because it was the first time I scraped my knees and the last time I didn’t listen to my mom, because she had just finished telling me not to run in my little white sandals. Ignoring her, I did it anyway—this just proving again moms are always right. But before then I don’t remember much of anything. I can look at pictures of me as an infant and have no memory of the photo being taken. This is what it will be like for my son, and I’ve become a little obsessed with it.
In some ways having no memories as a baby is a great thing Mother Nature has provided for him. He won’t remember the pain of colic for the first three months. He won’t remember his teeth coming in and how that kept him up at night. He won’t remember how I accidentally bonked his head on the door frame last week. These are all good things.
But he also won’t remember nap-time cuddles, laughing at me making stupid faces at him, and reaching out for me when he just needs a hug from his mom. All these things he will never remember. I will be alone in my recollection of them, and even though I feel stupidly hormonal about it, it makes me sad. I want him to remember all these great things about us right now. I hope somehow this time in his life melts into his being and keeps his heart warm on those cold nights that are sure to come later. I so want him to remember the love.
“What’s wrong?” my husband asks.
“It’s just that he won’t remember any of this. None of it…”
“But you will.”
Yes.
Yes, I will.
All of it.
Every second.
And that will have to be enough.