I was trying to take a photograph of Baby A. in a hat and cardigan knit by her great gran.
In a few short weeks great gran will be turning 90, and she spent a better part of the past year crocheting through failing eyes and stiffening fingers to make clothing for baby. She even whipped together a blanket for Baby A. using the same pattern as a blanket she gifted to my aunt upon my cousin’s birth. I think my gran spent longer searching through boxes of musty papers to find the 30-year-old pattern, than it took to make the blanket itself.
Most days Baby A. is the most cooperative photographic subject in the house. She’s not self-aware or self-conscious when I put her in front of the camera. She just goes about her business of exploring the world. Some days, however, what I want her to do and what she’d like to do are not in alignment.
Lately Baby A. is infatuated with black cords and straps. She loves to find the laptop and breast pump cord. She loves to eat the strap of her high chair or the one attached to the diaper bag. Baby A. had no intention of staying still long enough for me to take a photo of her. That is, until I gave her the object of her affection (unplugged, of course).