Snap shot in time
A while ago I read a Huffington Post article that brought me to tears. Not that it's a difficult thing to do, but this was truly touching. I'd post a link, only I can't remember the title or author's name. Sigh, I miss my brain. Anyway, it was about how this woman, a mother, who was everywhere in her children's lives, but there was little to no photographic evidence. She was always shying away from the camera, hiding behind it rather than posing in front.
It really got me thinking about my own relationship with the camera; I don't like it. And my mothers relationship with the camera, she really doesn't like it. Then I started to think back on all the wonderful photographs of my childhood, neatly organized in albums that I frequently enjoy browsing. Fantastic memories, elaborate holidays, birthday parties, crafts, vacations, milestones, a lifetime of fun all made possible by my mother. But my mother is hardly in the album at all. Absent from my childhood memories in print.
And you know what, Caches' photo album looks the same. Other than the day he was born there are hardly any photos of myself with my son, so I decided to make a change. Yes, I may weigh as much as I did 6 months pregnant. Yes, my hair is typically thrown up and frizzy. Yes, my make up is almost never done, and yes, I'm usually in less than impressive dress, but I am his mother, one and only.
And some day he is going to want to see pictures of me. He will wonder what I looked like when he was a child, what adventures we embarked upon together. He will want pictures of me, of us, and I want him to have them. I want him to see the look in my eye when I'm watching him, the love. I want him to see that we have the same squinty eyes when we smile and that both our noses wrinkle when we laugh.
Nobody knows how long I will be in his life. I could be gone fifty years from now or it could be tomorrow. Whenever it is, when he looks back on pictures from his childhood I want to be there. I may be less than perfect but I am here. I am always here. I am his mama.
When I look at the few pictures I do have of my mother I'm never analyzing her dress or her hair. I'm not wondering if she is in shape or if her jeans are a bit too tight. I'm simply looking at a photograph of us, mother and child, in life and in love, and I want that for my son. Even if he does make fun of my yoga pants and frizzy hair, at least I'm there to be made fun of. I'm always there.
It really got me thinking about my own relationship with the camera; I don't like it. And my mothers relationship with the camera, she really doesn't like it. Then I started to think back on all the wonderful photographs of my childhood, neatly organized in albums that I frequently enjoy browsing. Fantastic memories, elaborate holidays, birthday parties, crafts, vacations, milestones, a lifetime of fun all made possible by my mother. But my mother is hardly in the album at all. Absent from my childhood memories in print.
And you know what, Caches' photo album looks the same. Other than the day he was born there are hardly any photos of myself with my son, so I decided to make a change. Yes, I may weigh as much as I did 6 months pregnant. Yes, my hair is typically thrown up and frizzy. Yes, my make up is almost never done, and yes, I'm usually in less than impressive dress, but I am his mother, one and only.
And some day he is going to want to see pictures of me. He will wonder what I looked like when he was a child, what adventures we embarked upon together. He will want pictures of me, of us, and I want him to have them. I want him to see the look in my eye when I'm watching him, the love. I want him to see that we have the same squinty eyes when we smile and that both our noses wrinkle when we laugh.
Nobody knows how long I will be in his life. I could be gone fifty years from now or it could be tomorrow. Whenever it is, when he looks back on pictures from his childhood I want to be there. I may be less than perfect but I am here. I am always here. I am his mama.
When I look at the few pictures I do have of my mother I'm never analyzing her dress or her hair. I'm not wondering if she is in shape or if her jeans are a bit too tight. I'm simply looking at a photograph of us, mother and child, in life and in love, and I want that for my son. Even if he does make fun of my yoga pants and frizzy hair, at least I'm there to be made fun of. I'm always there.
He looks a lot like his mama when he's right next to her :)
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