I raise my camera to my eye and frame my daughter Sophie within the viewfinder. She grins before raising her own camera. I almost protest and say, “Hey, I look terrible! Don’t take any photos of me!” But I don’t.
A mother and a daughter out on a picnic, enjoying each other’s company. Joy rises up within me. It chases away any thoughts of my appearance. I don’t care what I look like. I just want Sophie to capture this moment forever.
My lips rise. My hair is rising too: There’s a breeze.
Sophie’s finger descends. The shutter release button moves. Click! Click! Click!
“How many photos are you taking?”
Loads of photos of wrinkly, crinkly-eyed me with my messy breeze-rising hair.
“Yes, I did it! I got a perfect photo of you!” Sophie grins. She turns the camera towards me. What do I see?
I see me wrapped up in a perfect moment of joy.