If you’ve recently welcomed a little one into your life, you’ve likely captured countless moments through photographs. From the instant your baby arrives, their journey is meticulously documented and shared with family and friends. All it takes is a quick snap on your phone, and those precious memories are preserved for eternity. This convenience is truly a gift.
My youngest child is now five years old, and I have a photo of her from almost every single day of her life. During my hospital stay when she was born, I managed to take 266 photos—just my own snaps, not counting those from my husband or visiting family. In fact, I have more snapshots of her early days than I do of the first few months of my oldest son, which makes me feel a bit wistful. It wasn’t intentional; he was simply caught in a different era.
My oldest, Lucas, is 13 and was born in 2008, a time long before smartphones and social media dominated our everyday lives. My husband brought a bulky camera to the hospital to capture memories of our firstborn. We took a handful of photos, each one a cherished keepsake. Back then, it never crossed my mind to take hundreds of pictures; that just wasn’t the norm. While it wasn’t too long ago, it feels like a lifetime when reflecting on how we document our lives today. I was more focused on gazing into his eyes and inhaling his fresh baby scent than on capturing every moment.
Most of the photos I have of him as a baby are ones I distinctly remember taking. My husband gifted me a shiny red Kodak Easy Share camera, which was a significant purchase for us at the time. I was thrilled to have a camera to document Lucas’s life. It amazed me that I could snap a picture and upload it to my computer. If I felt particularly proud, I would share it on Facebook. Our digital lives were simpler back then, yet I wish they had been a bit more advanced.
While it was a relief not to be weighed down by social media’s pressures, I also missed out on documenting those fleeting moments. I don’t have 20-second clips of him taking his first steps or repeating funny words on cue. I have to rely on my memories to recall those times. Certainly, being present during those moments holds value, but it doesn’t lessen my desire for more tangible memories of his early years.
As I had more children, technology improved. I got my first iPhone shortly before my second son, Jake, was born in 2010. Even then, I wasn’t capturing photos and videos as I do now. Still, there are far more images of Jake than of Lucas. I documented his first tastes of solid food and recorded him giggling like a chubby little elf. I even captured him singing along to “Call Me Maybe” at the age of two.
Though I have many adorable photos of Jake and Lucas together, I can’t shake the feeling that I missed so much of Lucas’s early life, as I didn’t start recording it thoroughly until he was three. By the time my third son, Max, was born in 2013, I was fully immersed in taking videos and pictures daily, sharing them on social media platforms as I blogged and posted multiple times a day. This became a routine, and it still is today.
When my daughter, Lily, was born after three boys, it marked a significant shift. During my pregnancy, everyone was buzzing with curiosity about whether I would have a girl. When I announced her arrival, my social media post received nearly 500 likes—a big deal for me. As she grew, my followers eagerly anticipated updates, and my feed was filled with pictures of Lily dressed in bows and frilly dresses alongside her three adoring brothers. This pattern of sharing became a way of life.
As my children grow older, I hope they understand that the varying amounts of footage from their childhoods are not reflections of my love but rather a consequence of the technology available at the time. I don’t love Lucas any less because of the fewer images and videos from his early years. In fact, I believe the bond we share is stronger because those moments were about us and not about broadcasting to the world.
Had technology been more advanced in 2008, I would have undoubtedly captured more moments from Lucas’s early life. I find myself melancholic about the lesser documentation, but I also appreciate that I wasn’t distracted by the need for social media validation during his formative years. His early days were pure and intimate, and the photos I took were for my family and me, which makes them all the more special.
I hold no resentment towards smartphones and social media, as they’ve provided me with opportunities I cherish today. Yet, I can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness when I look back at my memories and see how my older boys lack the visual presence of their younger siblings. I can’t alter the past or the technological landscape; I can only be grateful for what I have and lean on my memories. The sounds, scents, and feelings of those early days as a young mother in the mid-2000s remain vivid in my heart, even if they’re not easily accessible on my phone.
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Summary
This article reflects on the nostalgia and bittersweet feelings of not having as many photos and videos of the author’s oldest child compared to younger siblings due to the limitations of technology at the time. It highlights the shift in how families document their lives, emphasizing the importance of being present and the unique bond formed with the oldest child during a time when social media and smartphones were not prevalent.
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