July 31, 2011

I am an advocate of photography as a way to remember things. It can be beautiful or painful, it can make you smile or take your breath away but in the very least it is always there for you to look back on.

I had been doing maternity photography for the past 3 years, I just recently gave it up in favor of motherhood- this isn’t a statement about choosing one over the other, I simply do not want to take time away from the one thing I had wished for all this time, to take time away from my child.

For the first time today, I became the subject. I was photographed by my sister, my very own maternity photo shoot… it was scary to say the least. You are vulnerable and naked in front of the big glass lens. I wasn’t sure about doing them at all, but after the countless sessions with pregnant women over the years, I felt like it was a right of passage.

It was. I will have these images forever to mark this incredible blessing.



So here I sit, or should I say plant since my weight is growing at an exponential rate. It seems crazy to me after all this waiting and wishing we are almost there, just less than 12 weeks to go now. I am freaking out. In a good way, but freaking out nonetheless.

Today I ate pickles, and I had some ice cream- ok, when I say “some” I mean 3 cones today. And even in the instance where I am inhaling these foods, I am embarrassed at the cliché and all they represent.

I am not that pregnant woman, demanding that her husband run out and relieve some obscure middle-of-the-night craving… or am I?

Through this entire three plus years of waiting, wishing and finally being pregnant, I always thought of my situation, my plight if you will, as unique. Not unique in the sense that I am the only one who has ever gone through this, but unique in the way I dealt. Now I find myself on this runaway train, as I affectionately call it, and I am dealing with it- like every other pregnant woman. I am no longer the conductor. I’m just here for the ride.

Fingers crossed I arrive in one piece.