As I sit in my living room, surrounded by the vibrant chaos of teenage life, I can’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with regret. My children, now brimming with their own personalities and ambitions, often remind me of the sweet, fleeting moments of their infancy. Yet, as I look back, I realise how little I recorded those precious details of my pregnancies—the tiny flutters and those first kicks. In the hustle and bustle of preparing for their arrivals, I thought I would remember it all, that the memories would be etched in my heart forever. But years on I find myself struggling to recall the exact sensations I felt as I cradled my growing tummy, the excitement and anxiety swirling together. It’s as if those memories have slipped through my fingers like sand, leaving only vague impressions of what once was.

Amidst the whirlwind of motherhood, it’s easy to forget to pause and document the magic of where it all began.