The making of a perfect family photo

The women in my family have been obsessed with their mortality as of late. This led my mother to organize an impromptu four generation family photo session in my living room. My house is poorly lit. There were screams about bad hair, no makeup and someone's death bed. And judging from our last effort at a family photo, I knew it would be a challenge.

Our last generations photo resulted in the photographer breaking her camera and us running wild with my aunt's point and shoot and the studio's backdrops.

And props.

So this photo was important. Four generations. All the women and my son. So I set up the tripod, adjusted my camera, and gave it a test shot.

Oh dear. But the light is as good as it's going to get in my house, so I decided to go for it. I set the timer and made a run for it.

Well, that went well. How about another shot?

Oh, great. I'm going to need the flash to catch that wiggly little man.

Oh, that's even worse.

"Honey, come hold the button down and let's see what happens!"

"Son, hold still!"

Almost...one more try...

And we got it!

Today's lesson: The best memories do not always lie in your best photographs. Sometimes it's worth taking a look at the in between shots to really appreciate the moments captured.

Sick

As a parent, there are few experiences more trying and difficult than your kid getting sick. We have been extremely lucky, because other than a few short lived tiny fevers that disappeared the second I showed up with the Tylenol, Sam has been healthy.

Last week, I took Sam to the pediatrician for his well-baby appointment. He weighed in at 20 pounds, and was 28 inches tall. He got his vaccines and was fine and happy for two days. Then it happened. To put it nicely, Sam had some, uh, "gastrointestinal issues." I've heard other parents talk about the doctor's office being a cesspool, but I never imagined it would be this true.

Two days into his illness, I called the pediatrician's evening number in a panic. Winston was screaming and refusing food. The doctor on call, who wasn't Sam's doctor, made me feel reassured that I was a good mom, that we were doing a great job keeping him hydrated and comfortable, and that, once again, I should throw my parenting books out the window. This made me laugh, because our regular pediatrician recommended the book.

Another two days went by, and I took Sam in to his doctor. She checked him over, confirmed that it wasn't a vaccine reaction, and sent us home to wait it out.

Oh the misery. It was another two days before his illness started to disappear. He was tired. We were tired. Nanny was tired after an hour with him. When she came, I answered the door and said, "Welcome to hell." There were days filled with screaming, baking soda baths, a formula switch, and pedialyte, which Sam does not like.


He's fine now, thanks to soy formula, carrots, and time. But I think this entire household is traumatized. Especially since I ended up sick after our second doctor's visit. Cesspool, I tell ya.



Today's lesson: It is possible to be annoyed by your sick child, and that's ok. It's also ok to rock your screaming baby and cry along with him. And to lie on the floor and nap with your kid. And to run Baby Einstein non-stop for five days because it's the only thing that makes your sick child happy.