I married and had children young.  It’s not something that I regret; it’s simply a fact. I was – and still am – young. I’m only 25. I’ve lived a quarter of the life I hope to live.  Sometimes I worry that things are moving too fast. I’m afraid I won’t be able to remember all the important moments clearly. I already have trouble recalling how it felt to be pregnant; what my babies looked like within minutes of their birth. I panic that I don’t have enough pictures, videos, but life is moving too fast to take more, to document everything. I’m afraid I won’t know the important moments until they’ve passed, and I have nothing to show but a fading memory.

This is choppy. It’s apt; my memories seem choppy.  Certain things stand out – feelings, smells, sights, sounds – not always a whole memory, just a flash, just a part of the big picture. I have to think hard about the date, the year, the season.

My memories are like wisps of mist trailing away as a fog clears. They’re what gets left behind when the sun is shining brightly and it’s hard to imagine anything other than this moment, right now.