I know it’s true: I’m THAT Mum – the one who sits down to watch her kid play with your kid, then rushes off in the middle of a lovely moment to get her camera. I’m the most extreme example of this I know, and by a long way. It’s gotten so bad I now see it as a kind of public service – I consciously take pics of other kids (close family friends, not random strangers at parks) and then email them to the parents.
In fact, here’s a quick run-through of Louisette’s second year of life (my favourite one or two…or a few…pics from each month, so you can get a sense of time):
And a couple more from yesterday, because they’re unbearably cute:
All these pictures tell a story of the last twelve months – a story about a very happy, cheeky, beautiful, charming, clever, active, creative – and above all, adored – little girl. So many of these photos were taken on unbearably hot days, or between tantrums, or in the only good thirty seconds of an hour. Given the haze of time, none of the horrors of raising young children will remain – just the stories we tell ourselves about all the love and laughter. These pictures (and I even managed to stomach putting myself in, albeit rarely) are the stories I plan to tell Louisette until she’s old enough to tell her own story. Hopefully, with such an opening, she’ll have no choice but to write comedy.