We’ve taken lots of photos of the babes. Pictures of them alone, together, and with family. All the photos are pretty similar. The exception being that the babies continue to look a little bit older in each picture.
But as I lay here with a baby on my chest, a baby at my side, the burp pillow between my legs, laundry at my feet, and the top of the crock pot rattling in the background, I think about how these are the sweetest times. These are the times you cherish but they make for an awful photograph. I don’t want to forget these moments. And I want to remind the babes that they existed. So I’m writing them down in lieu of a visual commemoration.
I made journals for the girls after they were born. Every couple of days I have jotted down their milestones. And in between milestones I have written about sweet memories… babies on my chest in the rocking chair, good morning smiles, finding babies upside down at the bottom of the crib, blow drying the babes after baths, babies in bouncy seats in the bathroom so I can shower, double burping, spitting up, and all the other exciting activities that define their newborn existence.
I’ve been able to (surprisingly) find time to keep the habit of writing in the books since I decorated them. I figure the babies will enjoy reading about themselves in the future. Either that or they will think the journals are boring and I must have had too much free time on my hands.
And there might be a sliver of truth in the last statement, but I’m just afraid that one night I’m going to go to sleep and when I wake up in the morning the girls are going to have turned ten years old and I’m going to wonder what happened. They may have questions and I may not have answers. The journals are my tool for slowing down time.