It’s an experience every parent knows all too well: the frantic photo scramble, complete with verbal coaxing and physical gymnastics, just to capture one decent picture of your child. I’ve become especially familiar with this routine since welcoming my son in May 2024 and my daughter in December 2025. The moment I say, “Let’s get a picture!” it’s as if a switch flips—tears, resistance, and general chaos ensue.
Some good photos I’ve taken of my son, Elijah. He is so cute!
To get even a halfway decent shot, I’ve learned I must fully commit to the performance and act like a fool. I dance, whistle, clap, and call their names in an exaggerated, high-pitched voice. If I’m in the photo too, I recruit anyone nearby to jump, wave, and make ridiculous faces just to get a fleeting glance toward the camera.
It’s exhausting. My husband often declares, “I think that’s as good as it’s going to get,” or, “This photo shoot is over.” But I’m rarely ready to give up. “We’ve come this far,” I insist. “Just a few more tries.” Or, more urgently, “I need to get one before the baby spits up on her outfit.”
Here are a few recent disasters with my son and daughter. There was a lot of jumping up and down to get these photos, and some of the them (the photos with Santa) turned out about terrible.
But the phrase that stops me in my tracks—the one that feels both true and a little heartbreaking—is this: “I need this photo because they’ll never be this little again.”
Yikes. It’s more than just a justification for one more attempt. It’s an acknowledgment of how quickly time slips by. Babies become toddlers, toddlers become children, and each stage—no matter how exhausting or chaotic—is fleeting.
My daughter, Vivian. Sometime a cry can translate to a smile in photos!
Since becoming a mother, I’ve felt a constant urgency to document my children’s lives. Sometimes, that urgency borders on anxiety. There’s a quiet fear underneath it all: that if I don’t capture it, I might somehow lose it. That tomorrow will come too quickly, and today will be gone for good. I’m the mom who updates the baby book the moment a milestone happens.
I’m the one who turns monthly milestone photos into a full production—timed, styled, and, if I’m being honest, a little stressful. I’m the party planner who decides birthday themes months in advance and makes the cake from scratch. The PTA will be knocking on my door to recruit me once my kids are in school.
I don’t say any of this to brag. If anything, it’s a confession. Because somewhere along the way, I realized I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to capture my life instead of just living it. I say, “They won’t be this little forever,” as a reason to take the picture. But if I’m always behind the camera—adjusting, retaking, trying again—I’m missing the very thing I’m so afraid of losing.
The sticky fingers. The belly laughs. The chaos that doesn’t sit still long enough to be perfectly framed. Those are the moments that matter. And they don’t need perfect lighting or a cooperative toddler to be real. So yes, I’ll still take the pictures. I’ll still chase “just one good one,” and I’ll probably still ignore my husband when he says he’s over it.
But I’m also learning to put the camera down. To let the moment be messy. To let it be imperfect. To let it be enough without proof. Because I’m right—they won’t be this little forever. And I don’t want to spend all of that time watching them through a screen.
Lacey Vilhauer can be reached at 620-227-1892 or 620-227-1871 or [email protected].
