Getting a baby to make eye contact with the lens of a camera is a craft. As a parent and amateur photographer, I often settle for eye contact in the general direction of the camera and then make a lazy promise to myself that later I'll pay a professional oodles of money to get the eye contact that I so desire.
One day I'll make that appointment with Anne
Geddes, but until then I have to make due with what skills I have. Skills which include turning on the camera and pressing the button that takes the picture.
So, with camera and baby in tow, I find the perfect moment, I press the shutter button down, watch the flash go off and then I hold my breath. When the image pops up and reveals whether the speed of my finger was a success or not, I'm left feeling disappointed. Baby is almost turned around, looking down and the picture is fuzzy. It has to be one of the most frustrating things next to flinging food from the highchair.
If there's one thing I've learned in my first year as a mom, it's the sad fact that it doesn't get easier with age. In fact, it gets harder to capture the moments when those big bright eyes are focused and zoomed in on the piece of metal that has now become a permanent fixture in our day-to-day activities.
And as Kennedy grows, she begins to recognize that piece of metal. She knows exactly what I'm trying to do. And she knows she must either run or hurry and look away. Because if she doesn't run or look away, she understands that there will be consequences. She knows that in about two seconds an annoying infrared light is going to try and distract her from the grand finale of lights. She's fully aware that the infrared light is her warning, and if she doesn't withdraw her gaze soon, she will be temporarily blinded by what seems like an awfully close bolt of lightning. A bolt of lightning ironically called the flash. The flash is not our friend. It has stolen precious, funny, beautiful moments from us.
And since the flash is required for indoor photos, I have no choice but to utilize its picture-taking assistance. Therefore, I am left with my imagination to scrounge around for tricks on getting that bright-eyed face to look my way while the infrared light and flash loom over an anticipatory Kennedy.
This is where props come in. Some people have inspirational quotes of the day and then there's people like me who have props of the day. Props that are instrumental in erasing the terrors of infrared lights and the agony of seeing stars after a flash of light explodes in your face. Props that can turn a child's attention towards a camera and keep it there for more than a few seconds.
Yesterday, my prop was a balloon. And a few days ago, the prop was a bottle of water. Really, it's up to Kennedy on what prop I choose. Her preference for things changes on a daily basis and what she liked today doesn't always satisfy her the next day.
Today, she had bananas on the brain. While in my arms, we walked past the bananas on the counter. Instantly, she was turned into a banana-seeking missile and wouldn't take "no" for an answer. So, on the counter she went to satisfy her banana desire. The bananas were fascinating, captivating, intriguing beyond belief. They were the perfect prop to distract her from the blinding lightning bolt.
And would you look at that, she's not running away. She's not looking at the camera, but she's definitely not running away.
Prime opportunity for a mother/daughter shot, wouldn't you say?
With the camera outstretched in my left hand, I clumsily grabbed my babe with the right, all while dangling the prop bait and snapped a picture. With the air still in my chest awaiting release, I said a prayer that the planets were in alignment and their gravitational pull had been strong enough to pull Kennedy's eyes off those bananas and towards the camera.
No. No. No. Just look forward my little monkey. Forward. Forward.
At this point I realize she's very passionate about this bait. If I'm going to get her to bite, I have to reel her in, in a different way. Off to the side doesn't work and I can't put the bananas in front of her because they will only block her face, so, really, I have no other choice but to place the bananas on her head.
I must admit, sometimes I get a little crazy, obsessed with getting "that shot" and will not rest until I've put Kennedy through some uncomfortable and perhaps awkward moments.
See, this one might be a little overboard. Bananas on the head, really?
I hate to ask, but seriously, Michelle, how were you going to crop those bright yellow bananas atop your daughter's head out of the picture in the off chance that the aligned planets' gravitational pull was actually roping her eyes toward the camera?
I tell ya, Mama H. is going bananas these days.
