The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

why there will never be a sex tape

The other day, while staring at my wee one, I realized that I've lost all my memories of her in infancy. I remember the way she felt in my arms, I remember the smell of her, but the way she sounded, the way she cried, the way she spoke in that strange broken language of English blended with gibberish are all gone. There are pictures of her with the different hair lengths, and the slow bleed of red from what is now long, strawberry blonde hair, but I was sickened when I found myself struggling to bring back my baby from the deep pockets of my mind. I love her as she is, but the past four years were beautiful, the best four of my life, really, and I want to keep the baby inside even if the little girl is here, on her way to eventually becoming a woman.

"I wish we had a video camera," I said to M. that night.

"Oh?", he asked, distracted.

"I can't easily recall what the wee one was like, you know? It's like everything we found so endearing about her is gone. I don't have the voice in my head, I don't remember what it was like when she was crawling, I barely remember her first steps. It makes me unbelievably sad."

"I guess that's true," he nodded, coming into my headspace. "I don't remember much more than that her first word was 'Bondi'." Bondi would be one of the cats.

So, I let it drop because what can be done about it, really? There are photos, and my parents and brother-in-law have captured various events on their video cameras so I know that one day I'll be able to see them, but still, that part of me who wanted to keep her as a baby forever was hurting.

Then, M. surprised me on Friday by buying a video camera, stating that he'd thought about what I'd said and realized it made good sense to own one.

Since that night, we've been filming various family activities and conversations which everyone else on the planet would think is terribly boring, but to us it's magical, to have our lives preserved like that. Except...well, last night he hooked up the camera to the television so we could watch the footage in its entirety.

"Wow," he said, "I've put on weight."

"You look fine! Don't be such a girl," I laughed.

"Do I have the world's worst haircut or what?" he asked, alarmed and wide-eyed.

I giggled.

"I'm like, what? One hundred years old now?", he bellowed. "I look just like my father! I even sound like him! I'm an old man!"

"Get real," I rolled my eyes, at which time, the camera moved toward me.

"What is with the size of my ass?!", I shrieked.

"It's cute," he insisted.

"I had no idea I have what is referred to as 'bootay'," I said, worried.

"What's bootay mean?" the wee one asked.

"I have a significantly ample backside," I said sweetly, to which she shook her head and refocused on the film.

"Oh my GOD," I exploded after watching film-Tara speak. "I speak like a stroke patient! I talk with one side of my face. Why didn't I know it was that bad? I mean, I knew I have a tendency to use one part of my mouth, but my whole face?!"

"Stroke patient with a large bum?" he laughed.

"This isn't funny! Look at my skin. I not only speak like a stroke patient, but my face is starting to look old. I'm like someone suffering from progeria!"

"You look fine."

"Oh really? Did you look at the waddle under my chin?"

"At least you have a chin!" he said loudly. It's true. His chin is really, really not there.

"You can have some of mine! You can even have part of my butt!"

"Hee hee," the wee one giggled, "butt. You said 'butt'."

We both sat back, silent and unimpressed. So, I thought, that's what people see when they look at me. It answers all my questions about why I was never approached to be a supermodel.

"It could be worse," I said after a few minutes of disgruntled silence, "We could have been naked."

"Hee hee," Kitty Kat giggled again, "you said 'naked'."