On the Other Side of the Lens

I have taken a billion photos of That Baby. Okay, not a billion, but a LOT. I can fire off 200 shots in a moment, just snapping away as she goes about the business of being her. And she’s so cute, it works for her. But one thing I really regret is that I have no shots of the two of us together during her first year. Well, to be fair, I probably have one or two. But I have no shots of me snuggling with her or rocking her, or giving her a bottle, or the two of us making faces in the bathroom mirror (as we do every morning). There are all these incredible, special moments that the two of us share that are not captured. I wish I had them for her.

It’s hard. I am on the other side of the camera. I have taken so many photos of her, when she is older and looks back on them, she can’t doubt that I am absolutely enchanted with her. But if something were to happen to me, as it did with my mother, I want her to have pictures of us together, so she will see the moments that I live with her right now. I want her to have pictures of the two of us and our time together. And I am not talking about cheesy posed portraits. I want pictures of us that capture who we are, and what it looks like for us to be mother and daughter.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have an absolute dread of having my picture taken. I am incredibly unphotogenic. Or perhaps it is just that I cannot reconcile the reality of the ugly me that I see in photos with the attractive picture of me I have in my mind’s eye. Either way, I loathe getting my picture taken. So you have to understand, that for me to want to have pictures of myself, it must be a big deal.

The thing is, I am hoping that my daughter feels differently about me than I do. I am hoping that she loves me, regardless of how I look, and wants to have those pictures of me after I am gone. I am hoping that she wants to remember me and see our special moments together. I am hoping that she thinks I am pretty because I am her mom. I am hoping that she loves me and will see how much I love her in those pictures.

I want to always be with her. I want my love for her to always be with her. And pictures can be something that gives that to her.

Only I don’t have any. Her first year is gone, and I have nothing to show her what incredible joy she has brought into my life, or how much she has changed me, or how much I love her. It’s one of my biggest regrets in life.

5 thoughts on “On the Other Side of the Lens

  1. Nothing makes someone look more beautiful in a photo than seeing happiness glow from within. I am sure you are absolutely glowing with joy.


  2. There may not be many pictures of the two of you together in her first year, but YOU have the memories in your heart and Stinkerbelle holds the same memories – at least as many as a one-year old can hold.

    Mother’s are perfect. We don’t look at them in the same way we look at other people. When I look at my mom, now and in old pictures, I don’t see her ‘looks’ – I see straight to the beauty in her heart. I recall the loveliness of our memories together, I see the grace & beauty of her love and strength. I believe that is how your daughter will always see you.

    I suggest you take as many pictures together as you can, as I realize I don’t have many with my mom (of course, picture taking was harder back in the olden days). I would love to have random shots of the two of us. I wouldn’t care what she was wearing or how she ‘looked’ as long as she was looking at me with love.

    Hugs to you, Cinn.

  3. You should get BDH to take some video of you and Stinkerbelle together too. Even just you rocking her, or reading to her, or her in the tub. Those will mean a lot to her someday too.

  4. I like Kelly’s video idea. I am also not particularly photogenic. My eyes are almost always closed or I am making some awful face like I just came across a bit of roadkill. Anyway, I like the idea of video because you are in motion, more like you are than you would be if captured in a single frame. More opportunity for that joy to shine through!

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