Me, Watching You, Watching Me

Photo Credit: Anna Mac Photography

A friend recently captured a beautiful moment.

My daughter. Junior year. Homecoming night.

I was taking a picture of her and her date when my photographer friend, with her remarkable eye, saw an opportunity to take a picture of me taking a picture of them.

I noticed something when she sent me the photo:

Moms spend a lot of time paying attention.

We pay attention to all the little things that make sure something happens exactly the way she hoped.

We order all the things. We make the final runs into town. We pick up the last-minute items that no one else remembers but us. 

We stand behind the camera and say the “cringe” things like, “Smile. You’re going to want to remember this,” or “Come onnnn, give me your good smile.”  I watch as she rolls her eyes and says, “Moooommm. Stop taking pictures. We’re done.” 

We capture the moments, fill the cups, make the plates. 

We make the pallets at the sleepovers with the softest blankets and pillows and tuck in other people’s babies like they are our own.

We get the “Mom, my stomach hurts” texts in the middle of the school day or the “I failed my test. I want to go home.” We somehow possess the words that make her feel like she can finish that school day. 

We braid her hair. We find the missing shoe in a hurry with five minutes left before we walk out the door.  We calm the panic with only our voices and a gentle touch. 

We wear the badge of “Mom” proudly on our shirts as we cheer in the stands, or let out a hoot that causes our own embarrassment when we watch the video back on our phones later at home on the couch. Our closet is full of school colors, and we pray the bus arrives safely to its destination with all of our babies on board. 

But what I can’t help but notice is that even though moms are so often hidden behind the camera, our children are still looking for us.

They look for our faces. Our voices. Our nod from across the room that says, I saw that. I saw you. 

When she lands that perfect headspring, my eyes are the first ones she finds in the stands. I smile in approval and nod. She knows I saw it. She looks confident, and I smile. I let out another one of those crazy hoots. I hope she hears me. I don’t care if anyone else does. 

When she’s had a bad day and needs someone to vent to, she knows I’m going to listen and hold her head in my lap, share a piece of our favorite chocolate, and suddenly the world feels right again.

When she needs a ballet bun and fake eyelashes, she tells her friends I do a great job every time. My heart swells. I remember panicking a little the last time because the glue was extra sticky, and I may have almost glued an eye shut. I smile and pretend that everything will go exactly as planned. It always does. It did. 

So, Mom?

When you feel unseen because you’re always the one behind the camera—when you’re waving goodbye from the driveway as they leave with a car full of chatty girlfriends—remember this:

Your presence is part of the reason for the smile you’re trying so hard to capture.

On tired mornings and late nights, we are exactly what our daughters need.

Just you.

Real, and exactly the way you are.

And all the rest will work itself out.