The Child in Me

I’m not a major picture taker. I mean, theoretically I am. I love taking pictures, or rather, I love having taken pictures. (It’s just like writing — I hate writing, I love having written.)

I used to take a lot of pictures. When I had my first baby, I stacked towels and placed my newborn on top, tied a pink bow around the whole tower and shot until my mother protested that the baby was freezing, could you wrap her up already?

But when the princess was joined by royal siblings, taking pictures became a dreaded chore. I had to do it, the bubbies were waiting for those photos. But to get multiple little people to look at the camera at the same time, with somewhat happy faces… well, try it.

I never understood the phenomenon. A baby, okay, he doesn’t understand what you want from his life. But a four-year-old, why is it such a big deal to stand straight for two seconds, look up, and smile?