"A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2013."
We wear a backpack sometimes so that Mama can keep hold of us in crowded and dangerous places. We don't hesitate to dash off without a second's thought, into the street, out of sight, bumping head-first into strangers. Mama feels relaxed in public, knowing that I am safe and always an arm's length away. And we know that at the other end of that leash, Mama is always there. Even if we like to lie down in protest sometimes.
Before I had my son, I said with glaring hubris that I would never submit my child to the humiliation of a harness. That all changed completely when the Squirt started to make a run the minute he was able to shake loose of me. We live off of the main road of our bustling town. Getting him in and out of the car in the parking lot when I've got my hands full of the morning's shopping, clackity car keys, discarded shoes, and the mail is downright risky. So if I can't contain him to a shopping cart or stroller, and I think I'll need my hands free and won't be able keep up the tug-of-war with him for very long, we bring his backpack with us. He never objects to putting it on, though after a while, when he figures out he can't take off and go about his own business, he sometimes gets cross with me. But he is such a good-natured child, his crossness is consists of a complainy kind of whine, and he easily coaxed, hushed, and distracted out of it.
Last week, these photos of Gabby and Bella were lovely counterparts to each other, juxtaposing in distance, color, form, focus, and composure.