Imagine if I let my back rolls erase this moment. If I looked at these pictures and saw my body before I saw us. Him and I. If I hit delete and pretended they never existed because I didn’t like the way my body folded when I laughed. Or how my arms poured over my body while holding his hand. Or how my cellulite managed to find a spotlight in my dress. Maybe these photos don’t matter today. Maybe he doesn’t even know they were taken. Maybe right now they’re just another afternoon. another adventure. another day with his aunt who loves him. But one day, he will ask what we used to do together. And I want there to be proof. Proof of the adventures. Proof of the ordinary days that became memories. Proof that I held his hand, laughed with him, showed up for him, and loved him fiercely from the moment he entered this world. And the truth is, one day, I won’t be here. And when that day comes, I don’t want the people I love searching for photographs of me only to discover I spent my whole life hiding from the camera. I want him to have these. I know he will see my hand in his, not the rolls on my back. I know he will remember my laugh, not whether my body looked flattering. I know he will see the love in my eyes, not the cellulite on my legs. I want him to have proof that I was there. Always. So, I won’t delete the picture. Ever. I won’t crop myself out of my own life. And I sure as hell won’t crop myself out of his. Because this body isn’t ruining the memory. This body is the reason I got to live it. And someday, when a photograph is all that’s left of an ordinary day we once shared. I know he won’t look at it and see my body at all. He will see how very, very loved he was by me. 📸: @Scott McCarvell
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