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Moms don’t go on vacations. How do we know that? Not because they still have to deal with food and clothes and bathing schedules. Because there are no pictures to prove they were there.

At least that’s how it works in my family. Moms take the pictures. Which means moms aren’t in the pictures.

I have had a couple of melt downs about this to my husband in the course of our 17-year relationship. He and the kids have been many places and done many fun things. If only I’d been along.

On last year’s camping trip, he was hyperattentive. There are actually multiple photos of me at various points through the brief trip. Even one of me in my bikini that he posted to Facebook, much to my chagrin.

This year, on one of our little family hikes out of the campground, he made sure to include me in a picture with the kids. Check one for retention of the lesson. I also made it into a sunset picture. But no bikini shot this year.

Which got me thinking. Why not? I’m a couple of pounds heavier this summer, but I don’t see a huge difference in my shape. I even have a new suit.

Paraonoia sets in and gives me the answer. I must look terrible from the angles I can’t see and he doesn’t want me to have to face that harsh reality.

Don’t be silly.

Or maybe he doesn’t want a picture of me in my bikini this year. He’d rather keep his pic of his wife a year younger with fewer wrinkles and less gray hair.

Ridiculous.

He just wasn’t thinking about me that way.

What? I’ve just hit my sexual peak now that I’m comfortably middle-aged! That can’t be it!

He did have a headache nearly every day of our trip.

And then I hear my husband’s voice inside my head. –I can’t win. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

Maybe it’s time to break out the superhero tights and sew the O on the chest. Now that he’d take a picture of:)

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