04 Mar

Sony RX1, 35mm f2 Carl Zeiss
ISO250, f/2.8, 1/80, raw

She’s my daughter. She’s almost seventeen months old. And she’s the happiest and sweetest person I currently know. It is my job to keep her this way as long as possible.
She spends her days playing, eating and sleeping. She plays with her mother, which she loves more than anything, she plays with me, she plays with her nanny, she plays with her aunt which lives just next door, she plays with her paternal grandparents which live in our same neighborhood, she plays with her maternal grandparents which live on the other side of the city, she plays with her friends when the nanny brings her to the park, but sometimes she happens to play alone. I particularly love those moments, because then she really shows herself, an independent entity, a real (but very little) person.
I really have no idea who she will turn into. When I look around and see how full of fears and insecurities we all are, I can’t help but feel sorry because I will never be able to keep her “feeling totally safe” forever. Her fears and insecurities all fade away very quickly if Claudia or I just pick her up and kiss her. The world is an exciting and fearful place in which her parents are perfect guides, teachers, and body guards.
I don’t know how long will it take for this scenario to start cracking open, I don’t remember when it did with my parents, but I certainly know it will. I know it is actually a physiological step of every person’s growing process, yet I really wish to keep my daughter in this magical state of happiness as long as I’m able to. This is my job, the one I can’t quit.

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