The other night I uploaded all of the photos from my phone to my hard drive, giving the poor baby a break from hauling around so much data. Scanning through the images, it occurred to me that the ratio of photos I take to photos I Instagram is like 10 to 1. I started feeling bad for those rejected photos in the same strange way I’d been pitying the overloaded inanimate cell phone and decided then and there to pay tribute to some of my neglected photos.
So here we are.
Here we have Trent and our friend, Joey Wood, competing in an impromptu Jell-O slurping contest in the Cannon Center when we went back to visit. Please note that at the time this photo was taken, both men had been accepted to medical school. I have no good explanation for why this photo didn’t make it to Instagram. This photo is awesome.
There were about 12 versions of this same photo on my phone, all failed attempts to get a decent shot of the marquee at the Fox Theatre when we went to see Billy Elliot. Oh, the tragedy! It had such artsy potential.
This is me in the bathroom before I left for church on the infamous “Wear Pants to Church Day.” Although I’m lookin’ pretty fly here, I decided against posting this to Instagram in case people thought the look on my face was a little too … I don’t know … feministy? I’d had enough conflict for the week. In reality, my expression was more like a “Welp, here goes nothin’,” kinda vibe.
This is Evan Gustafson. I love him. I really do. He’s married to my friend, Katie B., both of whom I’ve known since my freshman year of college. I found this selfie he took, along with about 20 others, on my phone after I left our little college friend reunion last January. These things happen when you leave your phone unattended around dear old Evan. None of them made it to Instagram though, because I’d just Instagrammed a photo of Evan and Katie’s darling newborn daughter. As cute as he is here, she was cuter.
Trent decided to experiment with his beard before he shaved it off completely. The only reason this photo didn’t make it to Instagram is that Trent absolutely forbid it. He didn’t say anything about blogging it though …
Again, not sure why I didn’t Instagram this photo. I was probably being snobby about the bad lighting. This amazing book was a gift from some amazing friends when I was having a particularly un-amazing week. It’s hilarious.
Again, I was probably being snobby about the photo quality, but seriously … how cute is this? My friends’ twins decided the pool table in the basement looked like a putting green. Genius!
Trent asked me to take this photo of our hotel room in Virginia. It was strangely enormous—like, we could have fit a yoga class in there. I held off on Instagramming it though, because I wasn’t sure about how much mass appeal it would have. I mean, it’s amusing, but is it double-digit-likes amusing?
This was in the running for baby announcement insta-pic. I am ashamed to say there were at least a dozen attempts. Maybe more. OK. Definitely more. But ultimately, we couldn’t get one that captured how we really feel about having a baby. How can you capture panic and joy in one manufactured expression? They all looked forced.
Also, I have a pretty intense double chin here, so …
I have too much self-respect to Instagram this photo, but not too much self-respect to text it out to my family so they can fawn over how pregnant I look. Also, my bathroom wallpaper is heinous.
I really wanted people to know how tough I felt after having my blood drawn for the third time in a row without passing out. But my inner elbow was at too awkward an angle for an inner-elbow selfie and Trent thought the whole thing was weird and wanted nothing to do with it. Figures.
That’s all folks. Happy weekend!