Me, Mommy

It’s Just the Angle, Right?

It’s a funny thing, how you start to have a new take on life and things suddenly start happening to make you question everything. I was just starting to convince myself to look beyond the surface when this phone incident happened.


I’m very cautious with my kids. We have outlet covers, door guards, magnetic locks on medicine and cleaning doors, password protected everything. It’s lockdown central in my house. I can’t even get into things half the time.

My phone has a lock too. I don’t want my kids grabbing it and calling someone unexpectedly or (gasp) liking someone’s Facebook status about their dog dying or commenting with gibberish to a text. I left it unattended a few times and it always resulted in an embarrassing voicemail or giant “thumbs up” on a messenger conversation from two months ago. I am adamant about keeping it locked.

My phone has been popular with my girl for a few weeks now. She has pretend phones, but mommy’s is just more fun. (Now I know why). I’ve seen her skipping around the house pretending to take pictures. I smiled at the cuteness and went about my day, confident she’d never actually figure out the security feature.

The thing I forgot, she’s smarter than me. You see, the phone allowed her to open the camera without unlocking it. (I only know this because I made her show me after I discovered the mystery images.) She couldn’t see my pictures, but she could take them. Maybe there’s a way to stop that, but since I didn’t even know it was an option, how could I stop it?

I often show people pictures from my phone. I have to scroll down until I find it and they usually continue to look through the others once they have the phone in hand. I have no idea to this day how no one found the horror I’m about to reveal, or at least I hope nobody did.

I was looking back at pictures from several weeks ago. I started noticing weird images, like a ceiling shot or a random blurry chair. I assumed my brain malfunctioned and I accidentally left the camera on. It’s not that far of a stretch. My brain messes up a lot.

I flipped one more time and literally gasped. There I was, standing in my closet. Not a stitch of clothing on, except my underwear, looking for something to wear. She’s much shorter than me, you can imagine the angle. It was enough to make me want to run to the backyard, dig up dirt with my feet and bury it like a bone. One of those crummy bones, not a good one that I’d want to dig back up later.

Mirrors are one thing, but an upward angle side view of yourself mostly naked and unaware is the thing nightmares emerge from. When you’re posing for a picture, you suck things in, straighten up, position yourself just so. None of that is happening here. I start to hallucinate and see things moving. Oh, wait, that’s real. There’s a video too? I want to salute, it’s like a flag blowing in the wind. I’m starting to think back to skipping rocks as a child and seeing the water ripple. For the love of cake, this must be destroyed immediately.

Once I regained a smidgen of composure, I cautiously continued looking. Another chair, a door, a bag of garbage, daddy. Of course he’s smiling and waving. It’s actually a good picture. Did he know she was actually taking pictures? I’m going to assume he’s playing and never ask him. I don’t want to know the truth.

Two more decent pictures, I’m starting to relax. Maybe it was just that one. Then comes a giant rear end. Yep, that’s mine. I’m bending over to pick up socks. She must have been right behind me. I can’t see much else because my behind takes up the entire screen.

Horrified, I show my husband. “Nice.” That’s all he has to say? Seriously? I’ve got a bottom the size of a hot air balloon and he is not shocked by this?


Then it hits me, he already knows this information. It’s nothing new to him. The anger and humiliation rise all the way up to my ears. He notices my reaction. He knows he better act fast to remedy the situation, so he quickly assures me it’s only the angle making it appear that big.

I continue on, still not convinced that I’m actually not walking around with a throw pillow stuffed in my pants. The final candid, real, humiliating picture is of me sitting on the toilet at a local hiking place. I’m sweaty, I’m tired and I’m sitting on a toilet. I guess it could only be worse if she snapped it as I stood up.

I collapsed on the couch. I considered driving to a deserted road and repeatedly backing over my phone. It didn’t do anything wrong, so I just deleted the pictures. They’re still permanently stored in my brain. Forever.

It’s too soon to tell if this unfortunate incident will require years of therapy or maybe cause me to get in better shape. I keep telling myself it was just the angle. I do still love myself and tacos. Maybe a quick jog or ten around the block wouldn’t hurt.

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