Since I'm the one who takes most of the pictures at my house, I'm not in all that many of them. Well really, I'm in almost every single one... I'm just on the other side where you can't see me. That doesn't normally bother me until I start thinking that if my kids happened to inherit their ability to remember things from their father, then at some point they may not remember what I look like.So every once in a while, at least once a year, I whip out the tripod and the camera remote and I take pictures of me and the girls together. It's my photographic evidence. See, this way I'm prepared. Because if her memory is anything like her dad's, one day I'll show up at Amanda's front door and when she opens it I'll throw my arms around her as she says, "Umm, who are you again?"
I'm your mom. The one who gave birth to you. I raised you. You've peed on me. Puked on me. I know where all of your birthmarks are. Mommy. Mom. Mother? Is this ringing any bells for you?
She'll give me that quizzical look...the same one her father gives me that briefly makes me wonder if I might be a tad bit crazy.
That's when I'll whip out these pictures, my photographic evidence. See, this is you. This is me. This is us, together! At which point she'll either throw her arms around me in a tender embrace or she'll throw a handful of quarters at me before she slams the door in my face.
And either way, I think I'll be glad I took these pictures.
We are glad you took the pictures. They are beautiful! Nice job! The candid giggly ones made me smile.
ReplyDelete