I lay awake all last night in a panic. I’m losing my memories. This time is so fleeting, each day a card house of experiences – one on top of another on top of another. You know when you look at your child with snot running from his nose, hair sticking up in back, greasy cheeks with crumbs stuck to them and a huge grin plastered on his face that you will never forget that face. You will never forget that moment. You could never forget that cute thing your child did or said and you will never forget the way you felt the day you moved him from your bed to his crib. In the moment, each experience is your world… definitions of who you are. You try to take notes here and there but there isn’t the time. And how could you forget? And then it happens.

I’m losing whole months of time with my little ones. Experiences and people are gone. Notes I took expired on hard drives of computers I no longer own. As my oldest enters full-time school and my youngest works his way out of diapers I am longing to remember my first days as a mom. Those first months of my babies’ lives and those moments that made my heart swell. Some are there but they are fuzzy. Details run together and I fight to get them back.

So, I resolve to take better notes, keep better records, knowing that I don’t have time. I take pictures. I mark the calendar with new words or new teeth, blog about crazy days and the occasional poignant moment, the things I can keep up with. Sort of. But I can’t capture how they make me feel or the incidents that prove my kids’ brilliance and sweetness. The good stuff. I’m terrified of what I’ll lose tomorrow, the next week, the next year, the next decade.

This is the best time of my life. The hardest, the most challenging but mostly the best. And someday, I’m afraid, it will all be gone.