I wish the brain had better recall for smells and touch. Unlike images and information, things affecting these senses seem forgotten until one again encounters something similar.
Because of this, countless times a day I run my nose along Allegra's profile hoping the smell of the pink lotion that has soaked her soft, fuzzy new skin will imprint somewhere in my brain's recesses. Then, when my arms are empty, I will have clear memories of her smell and feel.
Elsewhere in my mind I have also spent time storing the feel of the soft pads on the bottom of Allegra's feet, the stiff grip of her fingers curled around mine, the weight and size of her bitty body, the fit of her left dimple under my pinkie, and the warm exhales of her sweet baby breath.