Sketch 3 for 1-in-48. Journaling Reads:

“Look at me!” I say this sentence maybe thirty times a day. When you were little, I could snap tons of photos of you and there was nothing you could do about it. As you grew older, you were always complacent and allowed me to indulge myself. But in the last few weeks, you’ve mastered the art of selective hearing. When I catch you doing something cute or funny, I run to grab my camera and, in the most upbeat tone I can muster up, I say, “David, look at Mommy.” And you ignore me. Either you don’t look up at all or you say, “No picture.”

I should take this as a sign that you’ve had enough, but I don’t want to. My memory is really bad and these stages in your life are so fleeting, so momentous that I can’t resist capturing them. I want to freeze them forever so I can remember. I crave the permanence of a photograph.

So instead of giving up, I enlist the help of your dad. “Call him,” I say each time we’re out together and I am trying to get you to cooperate. “Call his name. No not there, come behind me and then call so he’s looking up to me.” I know he must think I am crazy, but he cooperates. Your Daddy is the very best, ever.

Little David, soon even Daddy won’t be able to fool you and before you know it, I will have to give the camera a break. But, until then, I will snap, snap, snap.