As the vibrant colors of autumn fade away, I found myself reflecting on the past season and feeling a twinge of disappointment. We missed the opportunity to take our little one to a pumpkin patch—a highlight on my fall agenda. But why did this realization bring me down? Was it a deep-seated love for pumpkin picking? Not quite. Was it the joy of bundling my baby for an outdoor adventure that may or may not end with a warm cup of cider? Perhaps. The real reason was the desire to snap a cute photo of him perched atop a giant pumpkin in his adorable fall attire. Absolutely!
In countless scenarios, I’ve asked myself, “Am I doing this for my child’s enjoyment, or just for the perfect picture?” More often than I care to admit, the answer leans towards the latter. My son, now just six months old, is incredibly easy to please. With a full tummy, a clean diaper, and a bit of playful entertainment, he’s in bliss. He doesn’t require elaborate outings or trendy outfits. But I do—especially for those photo opportunities.
It’s a little alarming to acknowledge how often I engineer experiences for my baby, all in the name of photography. Armed with my smartphone, I seize every moment, even if it requires a bit of staging. How many times have I snapped a picture, only to review it, and then retake it after addressing an unsightly booger on his nose? Next, I might crop out the chaos of our unmade bed or enhance the color of his eyes. And for what? I don’t even share these images online, a request from my partner that I comply with, albeit reluctantly.
Reflecting on my own childhood, I realize that my parents captured perhaps two dozen photos of me from birth to six months, and that’s being generous. In contrast, I take dozens of photos of my son every week—sometimes even within a single day if he’s in a particularly joyful mood or the lighting is just right.
The few photos my parents took are authentic, albeit grainy; I’m often not looking at the camera, my clothes are stained, and I usually have a pacifier in my mouth. They are genuine moments, unfiltered by the need for perfection. The scarcity of those photos makes each one more meaningful. Conversely, if my son attempted to memorize all the images I’ve captured of him, it would likely overwhelm him.
With my smartphone feeling like an extension of my own body and the convenience of having a camera at my fingertips, photographing my baby has become an integral part of our daily routine: Dress him up, take a photo. Feed him squash, take a photo. Place him in his car seat, nibble his toes, take a photo. Engage in playful antics before bath time, take a photo.
I oscillate between feeling thrilled and slightly disgusted by the sheer volume of images I have of him. When does the pursuit of a Pinterest-perfect picture overshadow the joy of simply being present with my baby—boogers and all?
My partner gently reminded me that there’s still time to visit a pumpkin patch. After all, there’s no rule against pumpkin picking after Halloween. Perhaps we’ll create that memory after all, and I might even leave my phone behind. For more insights, you can check out this resource on pregnancy and home insemination.
In conclusion, while the urge to document every moment is strong, it’s crucial to balance that with genuine experiences. After all, the essence of parenting lies in being present with our children, rather than merely capturing their lives through a lens.