My mom has a baby memory book filled out for both me and my brother. I can picture clearly in my head what they look like, my mom’s neat printing filling the pages with names, dates, notes. Mine has a lock of hair in an envelope and hospital bracelet in it. It also has milestones written on plain notepaper torn from a small notepad. I love those books. Even at the age of 27, every time I visit my parents’ I feel a draw to pull them out again. There is just something special and sacred about the memories contained within.

When I got pregnant this time I looked online for memory books and quickly found one for a little girl that I liked. I bookmarked it and filed it away for later, and then didn’t think much about it. I still debated about spending money on such a silly thing.

A few days after we found out this is a girl I am carrying I ended up looking at all the things I had bookmarked – removing the ones for boys and re-evaluating the ones for girls. I found myself looking at the memory book I had picked out and realizing that I really do like it. I went to order it and… it was out of stock. Searched online… out of stock elsewhere. And suddenly I realized I needed this memory book – this particular memory book. I had picked it out for her, I had gone through pages and pages of options, and I wanted this very book. For days I searched, aided by friends. I found an australian store that still had some in stock – more expensive, of course. But I couldn’t let it go. Just as I had fired off a message to an Australian friend asking if he could help me procure one of these books I happened to check my original bookmark and there it was, back in stock. I ordered it immediately.

I feel obscenely happy about having ordered this silly little book. I show friends and say, “Look what I bought!” and they kind of give me that look, the look that says dude, that’s interesting but why are you so giddy about it?

But in my mind I can see my daughter one day carefully opening up the cover and reminiscing over the memories held within, just like I do with my own.