16/02/2026
They tell us,
Take the pictures.
Fill your camera roll with sleepy smiles
and spaghetti-stained cheeks.
They tell us,
Make the memories.
Say yes to the messy crafts,
the backyard adventures,
the bedtime stories that last too long.
They tell us,
Donât rush the baby phase.
Youâll miss it.
Youâll blink and it will be gone.
And we listen.
Oh, we listen.
But we get busy.
We get overwhelmed.
We work full-time jobs
We work part-time jobs
We run on empty and noise and to-do lists.
We listen while folding laundry,
while answering emails,
while reheating coffee for the third time.
We listen
but we are tired.
And then one ordinary day,
it happens.
Not with fireworks.
Not with a warning.
Maybe itâs the empty space on your hip
where a toddler once clung.
Maybe itâs a pair of shoes
suddenly too big for the âlittle kidsâ shelf.
Maybe itâs a comment
âMom, Iâve got it.â
And your heart drops.
Because you realizeâŠ
you carried that baby one day
and you didnât know it was the last time.
You rocked her to sleep one night
and didnât know it was the final sway
in a dark, quiet room.
You buttoned a tiny shirt,
tied miniature laces,
shopped the small sizes
never knowing
you were closing a chapter.
We are stepping out of middle school now.
Our first Freshman orientation already behind us.
Our Sour Patch Kid
sweet and fierce and ours
is almost in high school.
How did time move so quickly?
Four short years
and sheâll be chasing dreams,
building a life
with hands we once held
to cross the street.
Time does not ask permission.
It slips softly
through open fingers.
So take the pictures.
All of them.
The blurry ones.
The loud ones.
The perfectly imperfect ones.
Make the memories
even when youâre tired.
Hold them a little longer.
Say yes one more time.
Memorize the sound of their laugh
as it is today.
Because there is no such thing
as too many pictures.
No such thing
as too many memories.
Every phase is sacred.
Every season is fleeting.
They grow
not overnight,
but somehow all at once.
And one day youâll look back
at the chaos, the crumbs, the carpool lines â
and realize
it was never rushing past you.
It was becoming
everything.
