I'm a photographer, Mum.

My mum (bless her cotton socks) still doesn't think this photography thing is a real job. She still thinks I just take pretty pictures in my spare time.



"When are you going to finish off your teaching degree? You've got one lot of teaching rounds to do then you're done." she says to me every time I go back to Shepparton to visit.

"Mum," I explain over a cup of Earl Grey and a scotch finger biscuit, "I don't want to be a teacher. I'm a photographer." I usually point suggestively with my eyes to the largeish camera that is undoubtedly sitting somewhere close by at this point.



She rolls her eyes so far back into her head that I get worried they'll get stuck there. "What about the future?" Mum says. I'm thinking Mum's a bit worried about my future, or the lack there of. Apparently there's no future in photography. Putting all my eggs into the photography basket makes my mum's heart palpitate



I think what worries mum most, is that I'm not worried. Not stressed. Just taking it all in my little shortie stride.



I've done enough stressing, and worrying, and sleepless nights and freaking out and anxious stuttering. Enough already! I don't think I could muster anymore of any of it if I tried. It's like when you cry and cry till there's no tears left. I've stressed and stressed, and there's just no stress left in these bones.



If this photography gig ends up a bit of a fizzer, so what. I'll go the movies more and finally read all those books piling up on my bedside table. There's those kids of mine who I'm sure wouldn't mind if I hung round them a bit more. And I know Amba wouldn't mind if I hung out with him more (if I also promised not to talk about photography he would flip his lid).



So maybe Mum, I might finish that teaching degree (which I have to admit, I did come unbelievably close, but that's another story) but just not right at the moment.

Because today, I'm a photographer.
(Albeit one who struggles to keep her eyes open when she's having her photo taken).



* Meaghan