I was young.
I thought it would never happen.
I assumed I would remember it all.
No need to write it down, I only had one child at the time.
Every word she spoke would stay etched in my memory.
And then I got older and had more children.
I lost keys right after I set them down, rewashed laundry, forgot how to spell my own name.
While driving my son home from preschool last week, dust was blown from the most precious of memories, from the years B.I.B. (before I blogged). The instant this memory reappeared I felt as grateful for remembering as I did guilty for forgetting…
Ashlyn began first grade during the time when Victoria’s Secret lotion was all the rave. Every morning I dipped my body in a bottle of Plumeria as I was getting ready but one hurried morning I forgot. She came home from school a little “off” that day. Through the evening she was more teary than usual but, because of her autism, was unable to fully share what was wrong. That night as I lay in bed with her, hoping she would fall asleep before the sun came up again, she turned her little head from mine and said,
“I put my hands on my nose at school today Mommy, but you weren’t there.”
My heart warmed at the thought that my scent could get her through a day then tumbled into a million tiny pieces because I was not there when she needed me. I coated my hands with lotion every. single. morning. for the rest of her elementary years.
And this is why you should blog, or journal or scribble on sticky notes and shove them into baby books.
Because even the most perfect of memories can get buried by dust on the shelves of a Mommy Brain.
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