Last year I accidentally deleted two years of photos from my computer. Two years, including the year that my first son was born.
F**k. My entire introduction to motherhood, completely erased.
A few weeks later, a woman approached me on the beach while I was playing with my two boys.
She was older, and it was almost as if she knew the devastation I had just experienced.
"Would you like me to take a photo of you with your boys?" she asked.
"You look like you’re having such a fun time, and I just wish I had more pictures of myself with my kids like that."
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First of all, what a woman. Let’s do more of this.
But secondly, I hadn’t showered that morning, I had just come out of two weeks of sedentary hotel quarantine, and after not exercising for, well… years, a photo in my bikini was the last thing that I felt like.
But I said yes. And I’m so glad I did. The boys looked crazy, and I looked out of control, but we all looked happy.
Which is us, every day.
And since then, I’ve made sure that I’m in every damn photo.