Holding On To Memories

I was looking through my daughter’s baby book today, for a picture to go with a post I have written about her turning twelve. As I flipped through page after page of adorable pictures, I was of course flooded with memories of what it felt like to hold her tiny, albeit round, little body against mine. I was transported back to an earlier, and yes, more hectic time of caring for a baby, a toddler, and an early teen.

My sister is a professional photographer, so I am blessed with an abundance of beautiful shots, and I am so grateful to have our history recorded in this way. Not only do we have a lot of pictures displayed throughout our house, but we have these books that we can pull out and thumb through. It bothers me when I hear about clients who want their toddler’s pictures touched up because they look less than perfect. Every imperfection is what makes us unique. Granted, as we get older we all want to smooth a line or two from our aging faces, but to not accept your child as they really are, is just sad.  Besides, even as critical as I can be of myself, when I look back at pictures I wasn't so sure about years ago, I now see who my kids saw all along, and I usually don’t look half as bad as I thought I did.

 I think it’s such a shame that so many people now put their digital images on a computer and bury them, never taking the time to look at them because we think we don’t look good enough to display. Ultimately, pictures are less about how we look, and more about the memory of who we were and where we have come from. Twelve years ago I was tired, but I was in love with a tiny little cherub. That’s something to be treasured and looked at often.