When I was preparing for the looming birth of my firstborn, I devoured as much good parenting information as I could; including but not limited to feeding, sleeping, setting up the nursery and raising a happy, settled baby.

I had dreams and aspirations; I’d have a nursery decorated in pastels, a calm baby who smiled a lot, and my hours would be spent playing, tickling and cuddling the baby, and scrapbooking every moment of my cherub’s life.

The scrapbook would be creatively crafted and tell a delightful story, that would be treasured for many a year.  It would be a work of photographic and construction paper art!

The glamorous snaps of the smiling, rosy cheeked baby rarely occurred, and the files mounted up with chocolate smeared, grubby, badly dressed, giggling hysterically infant, followed closely by the mischievous toddler, determinedly smothering his new baby brother.

Captured was the mess, the chaos, printed out and stashed in a disused shoe box, as the digital age took over and candid snaps of long car trips and days at the beach.  The family looks dishevelled, yet happy.

My aspirations altered with each set of prints delivered, the joy was no longer in portraying a content childhood or family life that met the expectations of others, but to encapsulate the craziness that is our lives.

To come across a box of photos, or locate a folder of fond memories on my computer, I find myself calling the cherubs over.  Not so I can say ‘look how cute you were’, but so we all have the laugh from deep within our bellies and say ‘remember that!’ and spend more moments laughing like maniacs.

Capturing a facade means little to me now.  Creating those moments of unabashed freedom stick longer and mean more.  I also have a lot to work with when the 21^st birthdays roll around.