The most common thing we hear from new parents is not that they don't want to keep a journal. It is that they are afraid of doing it wrong. Afraid of the blank first page, of missing a month, of handwriting that doesn't match the occasion.
So, gently: there is no wrong way. A memory journal is not homework. Nobody grades it. The only reader who matters will be so glad it exists that they will never notice what it lacks.
A memory journal is not homework. Nobody grades it.
Start anywhere. If the birth story feels too big, skip it and write about this morning instead. You can come back. Stories do not spoil while they wait; they only soften, which is another reason to write the fresh ones first.
Write short. Three lines is a full entry. The day has a date, the entry has a detail, and that is enough. One true detail beats a page of summary: not how the day went, but the sound the rattle made when she finally caught it.
Miss a month without apology. Every journal we have ever seen has a gap in it, usually around the fourth month, when sleep is scarcest. The gap is part of the story. It says: we were busy living it.
Begin anywhere. I am not keeping score.
And if the pen stays capped some weeks, let the pockets do the work. A hospital band, a first drawing, a train ticket from the first journey home. Tuck things in. Paper remembers in more ways than one.