Thursday, October 11th, 2012
If you haven’t read the recent Huffington Post piece The Mom Stays in the Picture please go do that. And, then come back here. I’ll wait.
I’ve spent a lot of time during Henry’s 11 months of life worrying about pictures. Pictures of him and pictures of us. There are only a few pictures of he and I together during his early days and that makes me want to cry. The photos that I do have of us together are well…awful. I can’t stand looking at them. I look exhausted and ugly and there’s usually crap in the background. There’s a photo of a very teeny Henry asleep on my chest that would be really cute if it weren’t for the fact that I look so…squishy in it. I want to look happy, in love and well…skinny and beautiful. I wish I could get past the fact that there’s a gorgeous newborn in my arms, but I just can’t.
I’m not the mom that can look put together at all times. I go to play dates, classes and library story time with my hair in a topknot and no makeup on my face. I’m fine with this but for some reason I’m not fine with being in a picture like this. So, I’m not. I don’t get in the picture. And, then late at night after I put my baby to bed, I’ll scroll through his pictures on my iPhone and get a little sad that there are so few pictures of me with him.
But this from the aforementioned Huffington Post piece, this struck a chord with me: “…we really need to make an effort to get in the picture. Our sons need to see how young and beautiful and human their mamas were.” So, here I am. I’m getting in the picture. I owe it to my little boy. I want him to see the love in my eyes for him. I may look tired, I may look frumpy, but hopefully he’ll see that I love him.