She won't remember that I was paralyzed with fear the first time she demonstrated that she could hold her breath until she passed out.
She won't remember that I refused to nurse in public, instead opting to hide out in fitting rooms when out and about.
She's not going to recall that time I got her head completely and hopelessly stuck in a too-small shirt and had to cut it off. The shirt. Not the head. Obviously.
She won't know that I was hugely grateful that she didn't walk until she was 13-months old or that I did absolutely nothing to encourage nor discourage her first steps.
She won't remember that time I forgot to bring snacks during an outing and she had to suffer through a long afternoon with just some terribly-not-healthy McDonald's french fries.
She won't know the number of times I have second-guessed and doubted and second-guessed again the decision to let her decide to eat meat when she wants to, rather than letting her decide to stop eating meat if she wanted to.
She won't remember how uncomfortable she was in dance class when the teacher didn't treat her as well as she deserved, or that it was my fault for not picking up on the issue sooner.
She probably won't recall that I was genuinely frustrated when she started to read at the age of 3, or how I wished she would just slow down a bit when she started really reading at 4.
She won't remember that I realized a few moments too late that she had gotten too fast and too smart for me to just prance through a corn maze and expect that she would stay within my line of vision, or how I panicked when I truly lost her for a few minutes.
But she may just remember that time she ran through the corn maze for over 30 minutes, successfully hiding and dodging and escaping me at every turn. She may just remember that she fell over in a heap of giggles several times and that she pretty much had the best. time. ever.
And even if she doesn't remember that day in the corn maze, I will.