There are a lot of photos of me pregnant with Nelle. We took a family trip to Hawaii when I was around 11 weeks. I announced the gender to my parents, siblings, and uncles on that trip. I was nauseous every day. At eleven weeks, I can see my shape in the photos. Blissfully unaware. It is incredibly hard to look at those photos now, as I can never erase that she was in the pictures with us.
When I was pregnant with Iris, I avoided photos like the plague. I wanted no reminders, “just in case.” On February 6th, we attended a brunch at a friend’s house. I was 15 weeks pregnant. Friends were asking me how I was doing and I was petrified, every day, so I could only respond “Well, physically I feel fine.” Quentin somehow managed to get into my phone during the brunch and took a photo of me, which I found later.
Over the weekend, Quentin commandeered my phone again. He snapped a picture of me after we arrived home from a trip to the museum. The very next day, a photo showed up from one year ago in my social media: a different photo that Quentin had captured while I was pregnant with Iris. His thumb is covering most of the picture, so I had thought it was funny and saved it. Two similar photos, one year and one day apart. A year ago, thirteen weeks pregnant; now, ten weeks pregnant. It was an eerie deja vu.
But there is a lot of love in those photos. My son loves, and wants pictures of his mommy, even when I do not want pictures of myself. He is capturing those moments.