The first time I walked my daughter into her bedroom, I was overcome.
I had created an entire human being and somehow I was now responsible for creating an entire life for her. She relied on me for every one of her most basic needs, and I was struck by the enormity of it. I vividly remember fumbling with diaper changes, struggling with dressing and bathing her, the struggles of nursing.
What I don't remember?
The tiny creases in her feet and neck. The way her head must have fit into the palm of my hands. Whether her shoulders were fuzzy like the babies I see and document regularly, or whether the only hair she had was the little bit on the nape of her neck. All those fresh details that fade so quickly, and which we can (understandably!) forget to document in our postpartum haze, or which our iPhones and spouses try to but just can't /quite/ capture.
That's where I come in.
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