Why Am I Never Wearing Pants and Other Questions My Kids Will Ask About Their Baby Photos


I’m in the thick of it with a three year old and a nineteen month old. In exchange for my blood, sweat and tears, they offer fits of sheer adorableness about twenty minutes out of each hour. In those twenty minutes, I snap a lot of pictures. I have thousands of baby photos at this point, and I lie to myself regularly that one day I’ll organize them into catalogued albums for our family to casually browse after dinner, near the fireplace (that we don’t have), while we wear coordinating off-white cable knit sweaters (that we also don’t have), and we’ll actively cherish our own family memories. 

Here are the most pressing questions I imagine my children will ask about their baby photos and the responses I’ll give. 

Why am I never wearing pants? Because, dear son, you squirmed so badly on the changing table that it was nearly impossible to change your diaper let alone put back on your pants. You really missed your calling as a world class wrestler because you could turn from back to belly faster than a diner cook could flip a pancake.  At home, you went sans pants, and we were all happier for it. 

baby photos
Who wouldn’t want to show off legs like these?

Why am I always in pajamas? Much like your brother’s lack of pants, darling daughter, your habitual daytime pajama wearing was a choice of survival. You opposed getting dressed with the fervor most people reserve for history-making sit ins, so I didn’t fight it when we were hanging in the house. After all, I would have been quite the hypocrite, telling you to look presentable when I, myself, was sporting three day old yoga pants and the shirt I slept in. We are one in the same, my child. 

baby photos
Take your dress code and shove it. Pajamas are universally appropriate attire.

Why are we rarely smiling? I always asked myself that same question, sweet angels. You were both happy kids, I assure you, and I did manage to capture some smiling shots. But, most of the time, as soon as you sensed I was unlocking my phone for a photo, you’d flip your grins to your chins faster than I could say cheese. Let’s chalk it up to foreshadowing for the defiance of your teenage years.

baby photos
Seriously, kids? Family vacation in paradise won’t get you to crack a smile?

Why is Daddy always playing with us instead of you?  Because when I was home alone with you, my little dumplings, there was no one to take our picture. When Daddy was home, it was his job to be fun and distract you, so I could actually get stuff done. Plus, I’m a sucker for the endearing image of a father spending quality time with his kids.

baby photos
Don’t mind me. I’ll just document all of our family’s lovely memories. Meanwhile, the closest I get to being in one is when my shadow makes a cameo.

Why were we always at wineries? A better question, apples of my eye, is why not be at wineries? Your father and I are smart and knew that before long our free time would be sucked up by your extra curricular activities, so while we had full control of our family’s weekends we spent our Saturdays with you in wine country, and we told ourselves we were exposing our city kids to nature.

baby photos
Where there’s a will (for wine), there’s a way.

Why were we always chewing on a piece of fabric? The short answer, my loves, is that kids are weird. The long answer is that neither of you used pacifiers but each of you had security blankets — a sleep sack and burp rag, respectively. You would suck on these for comfort throughout the day, which meant the odds were good that my candid photo of you would include your best impression of a puppy playing tug of war. Like I said, kids are weird. 

baby photos
Any minute now, one of them will cough up a hairball.

That’s enough questions for now, my cutie cuddle muffins. Mommy did her best to capture the big and small moments of your young lives, despite your best efforts to sabotage them. So, lets go back to enjoying this roaring fire in our toasty sweaters, and maybe I can just take a quick pic— no? Ok. I’ll try again at Christmas.


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