November 19, 2008
So you know that thing about second babies and how you never take as many photos of them and then one day you're forced to explain why their baby book makes it appear that they left the hospital and went straight to kindergarten? I hate to admit that it's mostly true, even for us crazy obsessive blogger types, who should AT LEAST be motivated by the occasional writer's block to pick up the camera.
(Liiiiiike, saaaaay, YESTERDAY? HMMM?)
I initially had a brilliant, sappy-as-all-get-out hypothesis about why I have trouble remembering to take photos every day -- listen to this, and see if you can spot the post-c-section Percocet -- I decided that it was because I now fully appreciate how FAST, how FLEETING infancy is, and that I CHOOSE to not witness it through the lens of a camera. I CHOOSE to simply drink in the moments and faces instead of diving for the camera every few hours. Forget Flickr, I'm too busy making MEMORIES here, memories that I will never, ever forget, even though I now call every member of my family JasoNoaEzCeibaMaxYOUTHERE. The important memories aren't going anywhere, I swear.
Of course, this is a gigantic steaming pantsload. I won't remember a thing without photos or video or obsessive blog entries or bright pink Post-It Notes on my steering wheel asking me DID U REMEMBER THE BABY? before I back out of the driveway.
No, the real reason is more that babies are kind of boring. They just don't do much. We're so used to taking pictures of Noah DOING something or shooting video of him SAYING something that we forget that for an infant, just LAYING THERE really is pretty much the most photo-worthy thing they can do.
Exhibit A, Gold-Medal-Worthy Just Laying There
We took Noah bowling last weekend, and now have plenty of seizure-inducing cinema-verite footage of him rolling a bowling ball down a lane illuminated with Christmas lights, painstakingly following said ball with the camera as it sloooooooooowly made its way to the pins, then panning back to Noah who was not at all interested in watching the pins fall over but who was so! very! excited! by the ball return machine.
At one point I aimed the camera at Ezra's carseat, where he sat snoozing away, a barely visible lump under a hat and bunting. And after a few seconds of that...well...okay. Existence documented. Moving on.
Exhibit B, Champion Ceiling-Fan Watcher of the World
We keep waiting for Ezra to DO something. Hit some milestone, find his fingers, notice his brother, his dog, engage with ANYONE OR ANYTHING AT ALL. He held his head up! He's putting weight on his legs! He's...okay, he's floppily staring into space again.
Which...of course that's all he does. He's brand-new! A nice medium-rare at best, meant for nothing more than Just Laying There, eating, pooping, chubbing up, existing. His expressions and vocalizations are almost all related to his digestive tract. He enjoys staring at the miniblinds and long leisurely looks the pot rack. There are few problems that cannot be solved by boob, butt pats, Miracle Blankets or bouncy pacing around the house. Except for the problems that seem to require all four.
So why are we in some rush for rolling over and crawling and walking and talking spending $35 on a bowling lane for a kid who only cares about the ball return machine thingie?
We'll blink and be there soon enough, I know. In the meantime, it IS hard to tear myself away from holding him, watching him, waiting for what's coming next long enough to grab the camera.
Who knows what can happen in the blink of that shutter.