Farts & Photographs: A Snapshot.

I just had my daughter scoot after me, bare-bottomed on her potty, across the wooden floors.

‘I CAN SEE YOU MAMA! I AM COMING TO GET YOU!’

I try not to laugh so hard that she can still understand me when I say ‘look out for the rug!’

Then, as she sat on my lap, readying herself for the bath, she did an enormous, resonant fart – omitting the type of smell that shouldn’t come from a person so diminutive – and literally laughed so hard she cried. ‘SMELL MY STINKY FART!’ she roars, desperate for breath. ‘SMELL MY FINGER!’…I don’t know where she gets this stuff. Honestly, I think it just comes to her.

Life is made up of moments like these.

I’ve just gotten a new passport – the old one suffering too many beer-soaked nights as my only I.D; all my stamps ripped out and given away with my phone number, over the last 10 ridiculous years attempting to be casually glamorous. Though I am fated to forever look like a German boy in my passport photo. Many a bouncer has sucked in through his teeth, ‘Geeze, girl!’. I know! I know! I was 19 and life was hard, you know? Yellow isn’t a flattering colour for me; I know that now. No one looks good under-lit.

Theo is looking over my new one; it encompasses so much that he enjoys: technology, the idea of travel; rules and regulations.

‘Mama? You look adorable in this photograph in your new passbook.’

Life is made up of moments like these, too, remember.

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