You think you’ll never forget, the weight of them, the smell of their head, the sound they make when they yawn.

But you do.

Not because you stop loving, but because the days blur together in the sweetest, sleepiest fog.

That’s why I do this.

So you can hold onto the details time will blur, the wrinkled toes, the curl of their fingers, the way they fit so perfectly against your chest.

That gentle curve under your hands? That’s the beginning of forever.

You’re tired. You’re tender. And yet you’ve never loved like this before.

It doesn’t have to feel magical to be worth remembering. Even the ordinary is sacred.

It’s not just about growing a baby, it’s about growing into a new version of you.