I am not one of those people who in 40 years will look back and think “if only I had realized that those were the best years, I would do everything differently”, I am painfully aware of the almost cruel flash of time that I get to spend with my children. I try (admittedly, unsuccessfully) every day to soak them up, make a lasting memory of them, but already I have forgotten what my little girls’ laughs sounded like when they were this age. Already I don’t remember what their clumsy gait and silly nicknames for things were. They are only 5 and 9, already my mind has taken the memory of their infancy away from me.

I remember this day vividly, and I love it because I have no idea what thrilled him about that little Amaryllis. I did not care then what it was, but now I can not help but wonder. Did he just think it was beautiful and that is the end of it? Maybe the color appealed to him; his developing eyes allowing him to see greater color depth every day. Maybe it was the smell, so new and foreign that tickled his new nose. I have no way to tell, but the earth laughs in flowers and maybe he is just talking to them in a language they understand.

That boy is my last little, and I have been doing everything I can to try and savor him. It is the secret root of my photography; to try and save my children’s memory while they are small. Maybe if I take enough pictures of him I can remember the smell of his baby skin when he’s older. Maybe if I look back at these, I can hear his tiny laugh when he’s in college or maybe it’s all a fool’s errand and it won’t matter.

I think if that little Amaryllis was in bloom all year around it would be less, somehow. That is how I have to rationalize.