It was a New Year’s resolution that I actually got around to in late August (pretty good going I reckon) -to print out all the pictures of my beautiful baby girl’s first year. She’s now 2 and a bit.
So off I trotted to print out all 477 photographs,and purchase 4 giant albums to house them. They look great.
But something struck me as we neared the end of the task at hand……… there’s little or no photographs of me in there! Now whilst I understand that the point of the exercise is to document the little one’s childhood and is not actually about me at all (!), the thoroughly annoying point is that DAD is prominent throughout!
There he is at every single momentous occasion – the first Halloween dress-up, the first feel of the Christmas tree, the first haircut, the first time feeding the ducks, the first time smiling at the monkeys in Dublin zoo, the first time blowing out the candles, the first shoe-fit – all being held by Dad. How annoying.
So it’s clear. I took the responsibility of capturing what are truly special moments, and The Aussie was more than happy to oblige by holding the child in position. I of course highlighted the fact to said Aussie, and typically my observation was met by a one-eye-on-the-T.V. response of “Yea, I know, ah your right, yea..” (He speaks Dub now)
But something must have seeped through while he watched some obscure South Pacific rugby match or other, because last weekend – at a not particularly momentous trip to the playground – I pulled out the camera to take a few snaps (you know, because the child was looking particularly cute, or clean, or bruise-free), and The Aussie stepped in. He took the camera from me and said, “Here, let me take one of you and her”.
“Ah here what’s wrong with you? Are ye messin?! Sure I’ve no make-up on, the state of my hair and I’m in my tracksuit – have ye no cop on at all like?!”
“Fair enough” he shrugged, and returned to swing pushing duties. It was a good point. And it made me think.
Now that I don’t have my own mammy around anymore, the precious few photographs that I do have of her and I as a baby mean the world to me and I dearly wish there were more of them.
So what I’m saying is this: Mammy’s of Ireland – hand over the camera! To your husband, your partner in crime, your own mammy, your neighbor, your sister, the least weird looking stranger in the vicinity of whatever momentous occasion is happening – just relinquish control of the camera for one tiny glorious no make-up wearing, GHD absent, moment.
Your offspring will thank you for it.
See Nicola’s interview for Raising Ireland here: Chitter Chatter with Nicola Tarrant