Not taking a photo is the whole point

I just finished reading "Cinderella Ate My Daughter", a book by Peggy Orenstein. Fast read, about the Disney princess culture and its effect on girls. Not the best book I've read, but she makes some interesting points. About how Disney tapped into the developmental stage where kids are worried that their sex (boy or girl) might be fluid, changeable, and try to assure they stay who they are by being as masculine or feminine as possible. For girls, enter the pink princess stage. Orenstein also talks about the Disney live princesses, like Miley Cyrus or Brittney Spears, who all seem to follow the innocent/virginal to skanky/centerfold route.

In the end, the author doesn't do much in the way of suggestions for boosting girls' self-esteem and helping them value themselves separate from their looks. She gives a few suggestions, like telling your daughter she's beautiful when she's covered in dirt and in her soccer uniform, and not talking about looks too much. And not obsessing about your own looks in front of her - although, I'd say even in private, learn to like who you see in the mirror, because kids pick up on everything. They do as we do, not as we say. If you don't feel worthy deep down inside, your kid is going to learn that - they are learning machines, these little humans.

Anyway, the bit from the book that is in my mind this morning is the part where the author talks about virtual identities and presence. And almost as a side note, she mentions how people (herself, she has noticed) have started to delay experiences of the real world, instead thinking how they (she) will blog, tweet or update their status about them. So on the foggy dog walk this morning, I left my phone in my pocket and tried my best to just see the trees, feel the soaked grasses against my fingers, and be there while I was physically there.

It was nice. I don't do that very often. With baby A, I've noticed that I tend to only relax and muse on her photos after she's asleep, and I'm not actively responsible for her well-being. I can look at her, notice things, dwell. But I also do that with situations. For me there is a part of the behavior that I think has to do with the fear of being overwhelmed by being in the moment itself. If I let it take me over, within seconds, I will start to fear its end. If I get too caught up in rapture, the next thought on my mind will be to mourn its impending loss. So it is a safety mechanism for me.

Sure, I'd love to be in the moment. But I'm terrified it will sweep me away.