If I'm Always the One Behind the Camera, How Do You Know I Even Exist?

At some point around Mother's Day, I heard a segment on the radio that stated that there are too few pictures of fathers with their children because it is usually dad behind the camera. That sure made me shake my head. I remember an old friend telling me that she could now actually envision me as a mom because she'd finally seen a picture of me with the Babby - and this was when the Babby was something like four months old.

Of course, it doesn't help that every time the BabbyDaddy does take a photo of me, I think I look horribly deformed and not at all like other, normal looking people. (Seriously, am I weird looking?)

So there being too many pictures of mamas with their babies and not enough pictures with papas and said babies was certainly news to me. All it takes is a quick look at my Flickr stream to prove that's not the case in our household. Mainly, we've got hundreds and hundreds of pictures of just the Babby, but coming in second is the pictures of the Babby and the BabbyDaddy taken by yours truly, wielder of the current camera and coveter of future, better cameras.

I can just imagine what would happen if I kicked it tomorrow: The Babby would grow up always kind of doubting that she'd actually had a mother because if she had, wouldn't that mother have been in a few more photographs?

How does family photography work in your household? Do the guys and the gals get equal lens time, or does one person seem to take on most of the photography duties and consequently would appear not to actual exist if photo albums were the only evidence you had to go on?