“Taking pictures is savoring life intensely, every hundredth of a second.”
― Marc Riboud
I pushed off the table, the crisp white paper clinging to me and threatening to accompany me before I reached behind and released myself .
The tears on my face were quickly drying but because fresh ones threatened to spill over I rushed past John and grabbed the underwear I had tucked into my skirt and slowly pulled it up my legs, letting it cradle my hips.
Legs that wobbled and felt like Jello, legs that had been spread apart and offered an entrance for the camera.
John was holding the picture, the black grainy evidence of our choices and our victory. The two spots sat suspended in their dark background like two jelly beans set in the green synthetic grass of an Easter Basket and like that time of new life and renewal, in an instant, we had been given a promise. Not a gurantee, but for now that didn’t seem as important as the picture my husband was holding.
He handed it to me with a reverance you reserve for things like a Chalice of wine or a newborn baby. It seemed just as scared and just as fragile in that moment as I rubbed my thumb across the grainy image and let the fresh tears fall.
It was the first snapshot of the life we had finally created and it sat on my nightstand, where we sang to those jelly beans every night before we drifted off to sleep, every night of my pregnancy.
It was the picture that changed our life.
This post Show& Tell: The Picture that Changed Our Life was written in May 2008, and I took one piece of it, the part I remember, and gave it back to you.
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