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I write about about being a 40-something mum of six wonderfully exasperating children, attachment parenting, my adventures in the kitchen, and whatever else comes to mind. 



Boy #3 turns 8 weeks old tomorrow and we've hardly taken any pictures of him at all. It's not because he's any less-loved than his big brothers, or because the novelty of babyhood has worn off for us, or even because I forget to pick up the camera. If there is any one reason to be blamed for the lack of photos, it's that I'm enjoying this guy in a way I don't think I did with the first two.

I take the odd photo from time to time -- a diaper shot, a funny face, a smile, the obligatory pics for the grandparents -- but I just don't feel the compelling need to document every moment of his life the way I did with the older two as babies. I'd rather spend that time luxuriating in naked baby cuddles, celebrating his little milestones -- first coo, grasping a toy, rolling over -- and connecting with him. Many is the afternoon I've sat with him on my lap, the two of us staring into each other's eyes, and that is a connection I can't make from the other side of my camera. The camera has become an interference.

If I feel any regret about photos at all, it's that there aren't more of him and me together, but to be honest there are just as few of him and Dh. I won't need photos to remember how attached to him I am. We do everything together -- bathe, sleep, hang out -- he even comes to work with me! I am in tune with him -- I get him in a way I never understood the other two at this stage. What can a picture capture that my heart hasn't already?

I know down the road I will want to look back and reminisce, so I take a few pictures here and there. Then the camera gets packed away and forgotten for awhile. Time passes quickly and I don't want to waste a minute. Or a moment.

8 weeks old tomorrow and hardly any pictures and, surprisingly, I'm not fussed at all. If I remember, I just might take a picture...

Review: ’50 Science Things To Make & Do’