Of course, her favourite are the pictures of herself.

The photograph of she and my husband playing in the bath.

The one where she’s sitting on the kitchen sink.

The picture of her brother crying, partially obscured by the hem of her dress when she'd jumped in the frame as I'd clicked the shutter.

She recollects with vivid detail the egg hunt at her grandparents' farm over Easter. She points at the photo of her trotting along the garden path, her face an ecstasy of anticipation, and can tell you where her dad was standing, about the scones she and her Nanna went on to bake, about her Grandad coming to wake her that morning and riding in the billy cart.

On the walls of our home she sees herself. She sees her life.

And as a result I’ve been shocked and amazed to discover she has this almost tangible sense of place. These deeply rooted foundations. A sense of belonging and a connection to self and personal identity like I couldn’t have imagined having at three years old.

Through the imagery surrounding her she’s found these firm ties to family and an absolute understanding of where she fits.

While most of our memories fade with time, so many of hers are being solidified and strengthened by this daily reminder of the things she’s done, the places she’s been, the people she holds dear.

Thanks to these photographs, my daughter knows herself.

Yesterday I ordered some large prints for a few proper wall galleries that quite honestly are long overdue. They’re an investment, but one that is absolutely worth it, for so many reasons.

I cannot wait for her to see her tiny self, as large as life on the walls of our home.

What a testimony to her importance, to her value as a cherished member of our family.

I cannot overstate the importance of having and displaying photographs of your beautiful ordinary life. Over time that which now seems mundane and routine will slip quietly away.

These days of now will be gone, but through photographs they can be remembered and cherished. We can remain tied to our pasts, to our memories.

We can have and hold all these versions of our life and our selves still; they can exist all at once on the walls and in the hallways of our homes.

Long after these days and sleepless nights have ended, let there exist a record around us - a story of love, belonging, connection.

A rich and glorious tapestry.

A history, told in pictures.

*I wrote this piece a couple years ago now, and it’s been read and shared many, many times.

Since it was first published I have printed many hundreds of photographs of my little family. For me, the importance of this act only grows with the passage of time.*