I happen to be the worst photographer I know, apart from my husband.
Together we have contrived to take next to no pictures of our offspring or any notable events in their lives.
Had it not been for family members taking photographs of our children, we may have had nothing to look back on.
How many times one of my kids has come home from school and requested a photo of themselves as a baby, I can’t count. Well, I know it’s at least seven.
With our first child we had hundreds of snaps courtesy of a (now) ex-sister-in-law who recorded every cute moment for posterity. As my eldest was the first neice/grandchild she had loads of photographic attention. And revelled in it. She’s still a bit of a poseur!
As family extended, the photo extravaganza diminished. And, since hubby and I don’t ‘do’ pictures, the stream of visual memory began to dry up.
There are, of course, some holiday snaps and some memorable Christmas pics but, essentially, my memories are mental rather than visual.
Thankfully, my older kids take a lot of pictures on their phones, so there is some evidence of growth and good times.
One blogger very kindly offered to write a story based on a photograph that I could submit.
I said, ‘Yes’. And I also asked him to be patient. I will have to hunt for something, anything, which is suitable.
On those few occasions, when one of our kids has asked for a baby photograph, and I have struggled to find one in the limited supply, my husband – God Bless him – suggested that we just submit one of Child One’s numerous pics.
No-one, he maintained, would know the difference. Our offspring were kind of like Russian dolls as babies.
I’m just wondering if I could pass off a Russian doll of myself. Maybe, some Hollywood B lister who’s seen better days. Maybe?