My 3-year-old daughter still loves to snuggle. She climbed on my lap this afternoon and rested her head on my chest. There is no greater joy. I hope these moments won’t fade from my memory, but there is a good chance it all will. I can barely remember my oldest as a baby. I know every word to a Milli Vanilli song, but without looking at pictures I can’t recall milestones in my child’s life. I can’t remember much of anything these days. It’s called “Mom Brain.” Millions suffer from it. There is no known cure, but is likely caused by years of sleep deprivation and worry. Last week, I spent an hour searching for my son’s ski pants. I tore apart his dresser and the laundry room. I was cussing under my breath when my husband held up the pants and asked, “Are these the ones you’re looking for?” It turns out I hung them in the closet to dry. I didn’t admit that to him. “People in this house need to take care of stuff,” I mumbled and walked away.
I held my daughter closer, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Her hair still smells like baby powder. She looked up at me with a furrowed brow. “Why are you smelling my hair? I smiled, “Well, because I love you.” She thought about it for a minute and replied, “That’s weird.” ” She sounded like a character on “Square Pegs” instead of a toddler. Then, she hopped off my lap. “I’m going to my room. You stay here.” I don’t think I will have a problem remembering this moment.