I wanted to write this because I’m an open book, and a lot of people might think it’s really weird that I love newborn photography.
See, here’s the deal. My son is an only child. Not by choice, and hopefully not forever. I’ve been struggling with secondary infertility for almost 4 years. If you’ve ever gone through infertility, you know that it is a horrible emotional burden, all-consuming at times.
But my infertility gives me something I never would have had otherwise. A new perspective. A new appreciation. When I had my son, I was exhausted, and honestly, maybe a bit ungrateful. I didn’t recognize how much of a miracle he was, and I have a lot of regret for it.
I chose not to be in my son’s newborn photos, because I didn’t feel beautiful or up to it. Because of my regrets and experiences, and things I wish I would have done, I will never be the photographer that has a posing beanbag with 10 backdrops and clamps and props. While I love the photos from my son’s newborn session, if I could do it again, I’d book a lifestyle photographer. (Interestingly, the photographer who did my son’s newborn photos now does primarily lifestyle sessions, and seemingly less newborn studio sessions.)
And I hope everyone has beautiful newborn photos with their child. This is such a short period of time before they’re so much bigger and don’t squeak anymore. (If I could photograph baby squeaks, I would.)
And realistically, I’ll probably never have a studio. I know a lot of people don’t love their homes, especially if you’re in military housing, but this is the home you brought your baby home to. They may never remember it, but you will. Creating photos in that home allow you to remember what life was like when you were begging for 15 minutes of space and a shower alone without phantom baby cries, but so engulfed with love, you couldn’t imagine your life any other way.
The emotion of it all, when your heart gains another heartbeat, is why I love newborn photography. I know how much a baby is wanted and loved, and I want to capture all of it, because it goes by way too quickly, and you’re never promised another.