Blank

I am tired. How can I tell? My beds have not been made this week. My friend asked how I was doing and I burst into tears. I have not blogged. I have not read. I have asked my children to fetch a lot of things. The Schwan's man not only brought in the items I bought but also put them in the freezer while I remained on the couch. (And I didn't even care that I have no pride.) But it's the pictures--the pictures, people--that really tell the story.

Over the last couple of weeks I have been editing and filing the pictures we have taken over the last few months. It's not pretty. And I don't even care about the body. I expected the big belly. I never had a flat belly anyway. In fact, this is probably the firmest my stomach has ever been or ever will be for that matter. No. It is all in the eyes.

In every photo within the last five months it looks like someone has stolen my soul--or given me a lot of Valium. Take your pick. The smile is there, big enough to make sure that my "smile lines" are loud and clear, but the eyes? Blank. I've usually got both arms around my kids, but the eyes? Blank. It's the same in every photo.

It's like someone's posing a cardboard cutout of me at various events. Me on Christmas morning: Blank. Me at the zoo: Blank. Me sledding with the kids: Blank. (And don't think for a minute that I'm going to be posting any of the pictures that I'm talking about. I come from a long line of vain women, after all. No, they will stay unpublished where they belong.)

But here's the real tragedy. I don't feel blank. I'm loving this time of my life, despite all the groaning I do about my troll feet (and they are really ugly) but even still, I am truly enjoying the journey, so why don't my eyes tell the story?

The truth is, no matter my other physical shortcomings, somehow I possessed a certain inner vivacity that saved me. I was never the model type. I was the short, "full-figured" gal that was tons of fun. I can't do blank! I don't even recognize that person. And here's the question that puts fear into my heart: Is that blank lady here to stay? Will the Shwan's man always have to put my food in the freezer?

Bottom line: I want one good picture of me pregnant. Just one. One that reflects at least a glimmer of the joy that I feel in my heart. Just so that this sweet boy knows how happy his mom was to shelter him for a while. I don't think that's too much to ask.

Does anyone know a good photographer? I'm afraid I may need a lot of help.