I’ve always been kind of overlooked a lot in life- especially when it comes to pictures of myself. There are gobs of my sister, the oldest; quite a bit of my brother, the middle child; and not even an album full of me, the youngest. Such is life back in the day before digital, I suppose. As I grew up (and out), I hated getting photos taken of myself; I didn’t know how to smile (still don’t) and I was fat (or I thought I was… yet what I wouldn’t do to go back to the “fat” I thought I was back then!).
Then as I watched my nieces and nephews grow into adults, I often noticed how few pictures each of them had with their mothers. And that left me to think about pictures of myself with my own mother. They simply don’t exist. And that's incredibly sad to me.
So when Lovie was born, I promised myself (and her) that that wouldn’t happen with us. I was going to ensure there were pictures of me alone and/or me and her together. Even if that meant turning the camera on myself. Even if that meant begging someone to take a picture of us.
|from end of August 2011|
Lovie’s not even 2 and I’m proud to say that I can’t even tell you how many pictures there are of the two of us together. And I love them all. I may look fat and old and tired in some (or all) of them, but I absolutely love each picture. Mainly because of her, yes I admit it, but also because it’s a true representation of who I am:
Gray haired? Sure.
Tired looking? Maybe so.
Mama? That’s me.
This week, I’m asking you to take us into the moment your favorite photograph of yourself was taken, to show us who you were then and what the photograph means–in 300 words.