Does it have a name?

This morning, I asked my daughter for a photo of her hands because a reel about “never minimize motherhood” had me almost ugly crying just past midnight yesterday.

I often find myself trying convince myself that I will remember details like the chubby hands of my last baby. But then quickly remember my remorse when I forget over and over, the little things about her and my son growing up. If I can’t remember now, I won’t remember then.

Is there a word for premature nostalgia or is it simply a merit of something beautiful you’re lucky to have and have had?