time, what a thief

Since Brynlee was born, I've had this sense of time slipping away from me, like I want to commemorate every single little moment, every cute or funny or sweet thing she does, every new expression, every new sound, every new step. I see her grow and change and look different every single day and I want to just press pause and soak it all in. Sometimes I feel like if I don't snap a photo or take a video or write it down, the moment is somehow a little less significant or a little less cemented in my mind. It's a lot of pressure I put on myself, especially in this age of constant and easily accessible commemoration. Sometimes I feel like I should be doing a better job, like I should've filled up the little notebook I've been writing to her by now or I should have her first year baby book completed. That I should be keeping track of all that new teeth she gets or all her new "words" and signs. The feeling that I'm not doing enough to remember - it's a real tension. 

But there's no way to put into a picture or a blog post the feeling I had when she was three months old and would fall asleep on my lap after looking up at me like I was the absolute moon and stars. There's no way to commemorate the terrible sadness I felt when I was nursing her for the very last time and I knew it was the last time. There's no way to really capture that fleeting moment of complete contentment and strange ache I felt when I laid her down in her crib tonight and she looked up at me, smiled, and waved. How can I ever capture that? How can I hold onto that? 

That's the wonder of life. The change, the growth, the knowing that you will always remember that moment even as it flies past you. The ache of time slipping by yet the complete joy in knowing the sweetness the future will bring. What a very strange, beautiful, terrible, wonderful thing all of this is. Captured or not, I hope that I can bask in these perfect moments, knowing that they are part of her soul and mine and that we are tethered together forever.