I am surrounded by towers of photo albums. Preparing for the day when my twins turn eighteen, I have been assembling a photo-montage. I was looking for cutesy shots to make their friends go “Aaaah.” It has proved harder than I thought. I have made several observations:
1)
Perran and Carenza only once smiled at the same
time until they were about sixteen.
2)
In the coy, bath-time shots, the privates of at
least one of them will always be on display, making the picture unusable in the
current climate.
3)
In the new-baby shots, their older brother,
Pascoe, looks as if he would infinitely have preferred a trike.
4)
Who was that man who seemed to be a close member
of our family throughout the mid-nineties?
I can’t recognise him behind the beard.
5)
In the pictures of us with old friends who had babies
at the same time, there is no hint as to the struggles about whose toddler
wouldn’t eat their dinner, whose wouldn’t go to bed when we wanted grown-up
time, and whose wouldn’t walk anywhere.
We are all smiling in perfect accord. Oh mendacious lens!
And as if it wasn’t hard enough to find usable images, the
printer has spat them out looking a bit purple.
I might just Google “Happy twins images” – all babies look alike to
their eighteen-year- old mates, don’t they?
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