If I had a camera every time he did something like that, I'd be winning contests. Funniest Kids, Giggling with the Stars, stuff like that.
Henry bought me the camera when the baby was six days old. He was supposed to be picking up the Chinese take-out (I loved those pancakes back then), but he stopped by the camera store. Not Wal-Mart or some big box store. No, Henry spent the extra forty-seven minutes to go to some specialty place.
I was painfully post-partum, couldn't sit without that donut, and he was buying an SLR. Like I was going to need to document every poopy diaper (remember those diapers in the early days? all tar-like digested breastmilk?).
And now, now I wish I had kept that damn camera laced around my neck. How many times have I longed to capture him in pixels?
Usually, the only thing I have slung around my neck is the responsibility. Henry's not around anymore. I have a mortgage, a car loan, and daycare bills weighing down my shoulders. When he dresses up and makes me laugh, my smile is tainted with worry and guilt and a little bit of resentment.
But if I had a camera every time.