Three Videos and a Toddler

I snapped this photo earlier this week. There was nothing remarkable about it. I didn't take my time, check the lighting, or ask Annabelle to pose in any way. I just said, "Hey! Annabelle!" and she looked up at me and my iPhone with those adorable hazel eyes.

Cute, right?

As I smiled at the picture on my phone, I stopped for a moment and thought, Man, it is so easy to capture every moment of this girl's childhood. 

I've written before about the changing value of a baby book (the value is plunging toward zero) and how fortunate we are today to have so much technology at our fingertips. Weekly, Bridget and I get to look back at all the incredible memories we've already made with Annabelle. And in a few years, Annabelle will get to experience them, too. Her early childhood, I hope, will come alive for her.

The problem, I've found, is separating the wheat from the chaff. Is that picture good enough to keep? Is it engaging enough for Facebook? Is it Instagram-worthy? What about that video I recorded last night?

Videos are especially challenging for me because I can't get enough of watching Annabelle grow. I've uploaded, at last count, 108 Annabelle videos to my YouTube channel in the last two years. That's a bit much.

All of them aren't worth sharing, of course. I think these three are, though. So here is the wheat from the last month, the three best recent videos of our "how are you almost already 2?" toddler:

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?