You write small pieces for months without knowing what they will become. Only when Sanne and Tijmen opened their printed book did they see it: not an album of milestones, but a story of how it felt to live Bo's first year. Things they wrote in October and had long forgotten by March were still there.
The conversation with Sanne and Tijmen
Bo was fourteen months when the book arrived. They wrote irregularly. Sometimes nothing for weeks. Sanne felt guilty about gaps. Tijmen thought it would mainly be a nice photo book.
"I opened it in the evening when Bo was asleep," says Sanne. "I thought I would leaf through for five minutes. An hour later I was still on the sofa."
What they found again
In January there was Tijmen's entry about night feeds: the sound of the monitor, the cold floor, the feeling that the night would never end. Sanne had forgotten it but recognised it instantly.
In April grandma wrote one sentence about Bo's hands on her wrist. No photo, only that sentence. Sanne cried hard on that page.
In August there was a short entry from Sanne about a bad day. No beautiful moment, no milestone. Exactly the kind of days that usually disappear.
What they almost did not capture
An argument about sleep was in there. The first word, which they disagreed on who heard. A dull Tuesday when nothing special happened except that Bo wanted to stay in the bath a long time.
"I thought we had written too little. The book is thicker than I thought." Sanne
"I see myself as a father on pages I do not remember at all." Tijmen
What they would do differently
They would invite partner and grandma earlier. Less perfectionism, more rough sentences. And they are continuing with year two, because they now know small pieces grow large later.
For parents who doubt
YearChapter does not promise a perfect yearbook. If you think you have no time, read writing when you have no time. The physical book and our materials up close.
