This Boy is Mine

When I read Huff Post’s article about how it’s important to have mom in the picture, I realized that I do the same.  I avoid photos of myself with Tucker because they’re embarrassing.  After all, he’s so much cuter than I am.  I remember liking photos of me at 24.  At 34.  But, not so much now.  I’m 44 years old.  And, yet.  I have a three-year old boy.

I have THIS boy.  He is mine.  He isn’t feeling well.  Again.  He has a fever.  Maybe because he’s sick (sick boy loves his mom), or because of the article in Huff Post, or because I just finally got over myself, as we were getting him ready for bed tonight, I asked Robert to take some photos of us.  I think I might have finally realized that no matter how insecure I am about how I look now, that, later, when Tucker actually cares about how I look, I’ll look much worse.  Older.  Whatever.  Worse.

It’s not often that Robert takes a good photo.  And maybe this one isn’t even good.  But I love it.

True, I look at this photo and I see the dark ugly bags under my eyes.  The sun damage on my skin.  The wrinkles on my forehead and the crow’s feet that seem deeper by the day.  But I also look at this photo and realize that I spend hours admiring Tucker’s gorgeous eyes and that they are my eyes.  I spend days stroking his beautiful hair, thinking that it’s not the same as mine.  And then I see this photo and it is.  His hair is mine.

I look at this photo and I see.  This boy is mine.

Yes, I know my three-year old is drinking milk from a bottle.  Sue me.  I can tell you the story about that, later.  It’s a spectrumy thing.  I promise to post about that stuff another time.  And, calories are calories. He has a 102 degree fever.  Proof of that can be seen in his sweet red cheeks.  This milk is what he’s ingested all day.  Again, I’ll say.  So. Sue.  Me.