What's the value of a baby book?

Hair is the only thing that comes to mind. And maybe teeth, too, but that's a little strange. I mean, who saves teeth?

Otherwise, really, what's the value of a baby book anymore?

My mother, if she's reading this, is rolling her eyes. You don't know what you're talking about, Michael. Baby books are an essential part of childhood. The memories. Oh, the memories! 

Well, Ma, the thing is, books just aren't books anymore. Books are e-books. Books are online courses. Books are images and videos and animations. Physical books are, in a way, and it's hard for me to say this, dead.

And baby books are in that category of physical books.

I've looked through my baby book a few times. It's fun to skim the pages and take an embarrassing trip down memory lane. Mine, probably like yours, is faded, worn, and torn. That isn't because my mother treated it poorly; in fact, she treasured/treasures it. But it's a book and books fall apart. It's filled with images, footprints, and, probably, hair. It's stuffed with memories of foods I liked, illnesses I overcame, and first steps I took. I'm sure there's quite a bit about the potty in there, too. And don't get me wrong -- these are all wonderful things.

But we don't have one for Annabelle. And, frankly, I don't see it happening.

Instead, we have this blog, Annabelle's email account, hundreds of digital photos (many of which you might have seen on Facebook and Instagram), and dozens of videos. Again, I'm channeling my mother: This is all technology! What will you actually hold in your hand? Oh, you're missing out! (She says "Oh" a lot as she leads into emotional sentences. Maybe your mom does, too?)

I don't think we're missing out, though. (And I don't think Annabelle is either.) I think we're being practical and making good use of technological advances. The tattered images of me in a snowsuit are are now sharp, high-def images of Annabelle sitting in her highchair. A story about my first steps is now a 15-second video I can watch every day. A list of my first words is now an audio file on my iPhone.

Sound cold? Sound sterile? To me, it sounds like progress. It sounds like the inevitable march of time. It sounds like better, more vibrant memories.

Besides, what would we do with a bunch of old teeth?