Kamal literally came out of the womb with emo hair. I mean, day one, total pointy black anime hair.
Then his tear ducts started working way ahead of schedule.
And of course there are those absolutely limpid, almost farcically emotive eyes of his.
What I'm saying is, there was sort of no way NOT to do this series.
I feel like I've accomplished some pretty cool things in my life. I've performed at Carnegie Hall, I run a successful little acupuncture clinic, and I learned to drive a stick shift on the long, steep hill of Texas Street in San Diego in a 20-year-old Nissan Pulsar with a burned-out clutch. And I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I'm pretty sure I'm not as proud of all those things as I am of taking pictures of my crying baby and fashioning them into the images I'm sharing with you here.
I promise I didn't actually make my baby cry to get these photos. I did, however, allow him to cry for just a minute while taking them. When he's old enough to read this blog, I really hope Kamal understands, which he will if he has the same (dorky, ambiguously-ethical) sense of humor that his mama does. Currently he (is the only person on the planet who) laughs at all my jokes, so I'm optimistic.