Ever since my first baby was born, I’ve taken a “mind snapshot” whenever I remember. I hold my child close and soak them in with everything I have and tell myself “I will remember this moment. I am keeping it forever”. And you know what, it totally works.
In quiet moments I sift though these mindshots, the closest thing to meditation my busy mind ever allows me. Nostalgia grounds me in a way that optimism never can.
My son’s baby-soft head nestled in the crook of my neck smelling like breastmilk and devotion. The Athens Olympics high-jumpers leap and prance without sound on the television. It is 3:22 am and the old house shuffles and settles around us.
Capper’s first steps, face lit with glee and chubby legs akimbo. She trundles across the floor straight into my arms. There are banana muffins baking in the oven and a 747 thunders just metres above us. I have just finished hanging out the washing. Chest to chest, my heart and her heart thud together in song.
The Badoo resting in her baby bassinet, bouncing quietly, taking it her brother and sister fighting loudly over the red Lego squares. All intense eyes and grumpy forehead, her intensity is more than a little spooky. I take her hand, so soft it is like holding water, and quietly sing her theme song “Gypsy Girl”. She almost smiles, her eyes listening.
No matter how creative I am, no matter how hard I try, there is simply no better way to capture and document a life than to grab hold of a moment and never let it go. Video, project books, photos, words on a page cannot compare to the feeling itself, preserved forever within me and recalled often. Mindshots are my children’s childhood bubbling within me. They are proof positive that no matter how much my children grow, they will always be my babies.