My nine-month-old daughter, who is still bottle-fed, has started getting jealous watching the other kids eat solid foods at lunch. So, I’ve arranged with her part-time nanny to pack her a lunchbox, too.
Three days a week, I spend a whole morning engineering lunchtime joy, as if I’m packing a care package for a soldier who can’t chew. I carve carrots into skulls and crossbones, trim cucumbers into Stars of David. While I gourmet away the morning, this unsalted assortment of baby crudités—salt being our second-greatest foe, after screens—has a complete hold on my aesthetic sense. Don’t ask me why, but my baby’s lunchbox has to be a statement.
This weekday ritual, this mild artistic mania in pursuit of an edible still life, has me thinking. When she comes home in the afternoon, I’ll purée anything (unsalted) into a smooth gruel, often administered more by slingshot than spoon. She has the messiest, least glamorous soft dinner in a backward waterproof bib before I dunk her in the bath and it’s off to bed. There’s no pursuit of high-end—or even mid-range—aesthetic excellence there. And yet her lunch has to be just so.
The same goes for outings. At home, we’re pretty slobby. Did you have an accident? We can spend the afternoon commando. Spilled milk? No use crying over it. But leaving the house carries a sense of, if not “Sunday best,” then at least a dressed-up-for-Wednesday-night energy. I seem to be constantly preparing her for the promise of an occasion.
I find it impossible to dress her in a way I wouldn’t dress myself (if I were a foot tall and technically colorblind)—a nod to something beyond florals and practicality. Christmas sent us into overdrive: velvet dresses, white ballet tights, ironic office-party hats. But it’s not just her appearance I elevate; our social plans are carefully curated, too. Saturdays are for the sensory wonders of Sea Life, the kaleidoscopic tropics divided into tanks. We took her to the Imperial War Museum because we like planes, and maybe she could be a pilot?
In France last week, I spent a long time in the supermarket debating which new toys felt suitably “baby’s first beach holiday.” In the end, we chose rakes, hoes, and a lawnmower over the more traditional bucket and spade. Maybe she’ll be a landscape gardener, I thought, planning the kind of afternoon she might one day recall in soft focus in her vaguely autobiographical debut novel. Then we arrived at the picturesque French shoreline, only for my daughter to ignore the tide and become utterly fixated on licking what I can only assume was delicious salt off the stones.
There’s something both noble and slightly unhinged about all this: the way we try to choreograph childhood into a highlight reel, even with no intention of posting it. I find myself parenting not just the girl in front of me, but the woman she’ll become, furnishing her past with charming details. I’m building a world that, in theory, could harden into something she might later describe as magical to her teacher—or, better yet, her therapist. But it’s becoming clearer that I’m creating memories for someone who won’t remember them. I’m producing a film she isn’t actually watching. I am a forgettable cog in the soft tyranny of memory-making.
A long time ago, I read that we remember trauma more sharply than pleasure—it’s nature’s way of stopping us from touching fire twice. So… maybe she’ll remember the first time I drop her (relax, I haven’t yet), or the smell of a car seat on a hot day, or being chased by bees and jumping into a lake (a My Girl reference for those who know). I certainly remember my mum’s chip pan fire with startling clarity.
Otherwise, I suppose most of my daughter’s memories will be the incidental moments I can’t control. Oh, God—maybe that’s the point? I can control the fruit shapes and the ballet tights, but not the rest.No matter what she wears, eats, or what my own hopes may be, the outside world will find its way to her, and I cannot choose what she holds onto. My role is to offer a steady, safe haven from the struggles outside our door—to be one of the good things in a life where hardship is certain. (At least she seemed unfazed by the distant wars and the museum visit, so that’s something.)
Even so, I believe the quiet memories we’re making now—fragile as they are—matter deeply in their simplicity. They are meaningful precisely because they don’t strive to be. They’re about binding us together, showing love without expecting anything back, even if to others they might seem like nothing much at all.
Frequently Asked Questions
FAQs Why Do I Keep Making Memories My Baby Wont Even Recall
BeginnerLevel Questions
1 What do you mean by memories my baby wont recall
This refers to experiences you carefully create or documentlike a first birthday party a special outing or a professional photoshootthat happen during your babys first few years a period called infantile amnesia when they are very unlikely to form lasting conscious memories of the events
2 Is it true that babies dont remember anything
Not exactly Babies dont form the kind of longterm autobiographical memories until around age 3 or 4 However they are constantly forming implicit memoriesemotional bonds feelings of safety and patterns of interactionthat are foundational to their development
3 So if they wont remember it why bother doing special things
Because the value isnt just in the memory itself These experiences build your relationship stimulate their brain development create a sense of security and foster joy in the moment Youre building the foundation for who they will become not just a photo album
4 Arent I just doing it for myself then
Partly and thats perfectly okay Creating happy memories for your family is valid and important Your wellbeing and joy as a parent matter These moments become part of your familys story and history which you will share with your child as they grow
Common Problems Practical Tips
5 I feel pressure to create perfect memories Is that normal
Yes its very common especially with social media Remember the goal is connection not perfection A simple joyful moment at home is often more meaningful for your babys development than a stressful elaborate event
6 How can I make meaningful moments without getting overwhelmed
Focus on daily rituals instead of big events Things like singing a specific song during diaper changes reading a book before bed or having a silly dance party in the kitchen These repeated loving interactions are what truly shape your babys brain and sense of security
7 Should I stop taking so many photos and videos
Not necessarily but be mindful The key is to not let documenting the moment replace