Barefoot In The Kitchen

Dearest David,

Today you turn nineteen months old.  Because I’m is a bit rubbish and didn’t realise this until last night, here’s a photo of you asleep on Nana’s shoulder, and I’ll write you a proper newsletter over the weekend.  Promise.

Love,

Mummy

This portrait hangs above my bed.

It’s funny, I take portraits for a living, and yet I can’t capture anybody in the same way I capture David.   I have so many photos of him running and smiling and pulling funny faces, but this is the one I feel truly shows him the way he is, or, at least, the way he was at that moment in time.

I don’t have a good memory.  I remember details, dates, times, little things, but I have to keep notes.  David changes so rapidly that I need to keep taking these, need to keep track. Or else, it’s gone, and I can’t get it back.

And I want it back so much.