I realized today that I haven’t even looked at Brianna’s baby book. She is going to be the only child on the planet not to know the date that she first laughed, first rolled over, first said Mama.
Okay, well, she’s not going to be the only child, but shouldn’t I be wildly enamored with the idea of recording my child’s every occasion? If I really loved my baby girl, the light of my life, my little monkey, wouldn’t I be waiting, pen in hand, for her to commit her next act of brilliance? (Which, if I’m being perfectly honest, is of course, about every five minutes.) Wouldn’t I have remembered to write down every detail of her first Thanksgiving, her first Christmas, the first time she pooped all over me?
Sadly, I think my child is doomed to live with a mommy who is, at times, mildly disorganized when it comes to certain things. Like organizing pictures, saving toenail clippings, and catching stray eyelashes as they fall from her eyes 😉 I promise myself every day that I’m going to find time for that, I’m going to get started on that baby book. Tomorrow. Right after Oobi.