Capturing The “Moments”: Why I Have A Love/Hate Relationship With Pictures

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It’s a Monday Morning.  Sunlight is shining in through the window and hitting the plump, rosy cheek of my little monster.  He is sitting in his new, bright red, plastic “cozy  coup” car which he strategically placed directly in front of the TV.  His chubby little toes are propped onto the steering wheel and he is leaning back.  He is wearing an outfit with grey teddy bears all over it and is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen…really.  I sit back trying to take it all in, making mental notes of every detail when suddenly panic strikes as I realize I could be capturing this scene on camera.  Jumping up, I run to grab my phone, hoping with each step I take that by the time I get back to him he will not have moved.  As I approach the family room, I can hear that my moment has been ruined. “Damn it anyways!,” I say aloud. He is already out of his car and is pushing it around.  I snap a few photos of him, irritated that the “real” photo-op has passed.

The process of capturing photos is simply a terrible one in which I am faced with a few issues: the constant pull between enjoying a moment vs. needing to hold onto a moment and the horrifying task of having to organize all of the pictures and then put them in a book.

The photo book is not like it used to be with little slots for each picture, only tasking you with the minute job of placing the individual photo in its predetermined spot.  Oh NO!  It has evolved and is now like a scrap book made on crack I mean a computer. Last year, I bestowed upon myself the duty of creating an annual picture book displaying the highlights of my sons year.  This  was and is absolutely insane.  Has anyone ever tried sorting through thousands of photos only to pick the top 500 or so?  It pretty much sucks,  not to mention takes hours and hours and hours. But hey it’s tradition now…right?!?!

Society has become completely consumed with taking more and more pictures, but who in their right mind is sorting them all?  I can’t do it.  I also can’t not do it.  I refuse to let my sons memories be stored solely on my phone, or computer.  The thought of taking all these photos (and then worse- sorting them), makes me feel physically ill but I am slowly learning that that’s what motherhood is all about.  Dealing with all the shit no one else wants to deal with.  Why?  Because it’s your responsibility.  Dad sure as hell isn’t stressing over the photos and someone has to.

They may have created the character Beverly Goldberg based on my real life experiences, but darn it anyways I will get that picture, and I will make that photo book despite wanting to vomit at the thought of it. Despite missing out on real-life experiences.  Despite the massive amount of time I will waste, I mean spend making book number two (OMG! I have to do this every year!) Because that’s what mom’s do…lots of things they don’t want to that cause them tons of anxiety and no one will ever thank them for.  🙂

 

 


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