Her First Tooth
My daughter lost her first tooth yesterday.
It had been weeks in the making. Her adult tooth had already emerged from behind, so the baby one had been slowly loosening. Each day she’d give it a gentle wiggle, waiting.
Last night, it finally came off. She was so excited to show it off!
I couldn't help but find myself searching deep into my own memory.
I couldn’t recall when I lost my first tooth. That moment is gone for me. All I can remember is collecting them in my drawer one by one, as they fell out over time.
That’s how it is for me - but not necessarily for her.
The truth is, kids growing up today have almost every moment of their life digitally captured. They can see themselves before they were even born - the grainy ultrasound photos, the baby videos, their origin stories through the lens of their parents.
A digital legacy that could live on for as long as someone keeps those bits alive.
And it makes me wonder.
What will it feel like for her, years from now, at my age, to look back on this exact moment? To see the excitement through the lens of my experience? To perhaps even read the words I’m writing now?
And would I have wanted something like that?
There’s something beautiful about remembering just enough, and forgetting the rest. But there’s also something powerful in being able to hold onto a feeling forever. Maybe it’s not about which is better. Maybe it’s just about the choice.
And that, in itself, is something her generation will grow up with - the ability to choose which memories to keep close, and which to let fade gently away.
The ability to perhaps even pass those memories on to their own children, if they choose to.