The Unscripted Life of a Birth Photographer!
It was one of those Saturdays. You know, the kind where you think, "Today, I’m going to get ahead of things." Spoiler: I did not.
It all started with the glitter. My son had found the craft supplies, which, in hindsight, should’ve been stored somewhere less accessible… like another dimension. By the time I got to him, he was head-to-toe in glitter glue, and what I can only describe as an avant-garde masterpiece on the floor. His grin stretched ear to ear as if to say, "I did this for you, Mom." How thoughtful.
In the kitchen, my daughters were “baking.” And by baking, I mean enthusiastically flinging flour and cookie dough at every surface in sight. Lily, our little Schnauzer girl, was having the time of her life, 'tidying' up cookie dough that somehow managed to end up on the floor, the cabinet handles, and every other surface imaginable. She’s thorough like that.
Somewhere in the distance, my husband was hammering away at the odd jobs that have been on the to-do list since… well, let’s not get into dates. Meanwhile, I was contemplating my life choices, watching the glitter and dough merge into what can only be described as a post-apocalyptic craft-bake disaster.
That’s when my phone rang. Baby time! I sprang into action—or at least, what passes for action in this madhouse. My gear was scattered from the previous day's session (because, of course), and I was running around like I was in some sort of domestic obstacle course, dodging flour clouds and stray beads of glitter glue.
I got myself ready to roll at Olympic medal pace and dashed to the door, all adrenaline and focus, blowing goodbye kisses at all my people when my son called out, “MOM! You’re still wearing your fuzzy slippers!” And sure enough, there I was, dressed like a professional but rocking the coziest pair of pyjama slippers known to humankind. Not exactly the power move I want to make when stepping into a delivery room—nothing says "trust me with your once-in-a-lifetime moment" like fuzzy footwear.
On the way to the hospital, I couldn’t help it—I started snort-laughing. I had just yelled, “Gotta go!” and left my husband to handle the glitter monster and the cookie crew. Poor guy. Life sometimes just hands you these little gifts, doesn’t it? Moments where you’re like, “Well, this is a you problem now,” and then you run away to do your job.
By the time I made it to the hospital, I was in full-on birth photographer mode. The chaos of home disappeared, and I stepped into the calm, sacred space of new life. There’s something so grounding about those moments—watching a new little family’s story unfold, knowing they have no idea the kind of chaos they’re in for.
As I snapped away, capturing their baby’s first breaths, I couldn’t help but think, “Just you wait. One day, this baby will discover glitter.” And I smiled, because that’s where the joy is—right in the middle of the beautiful, messy, glittery chaos.
With love
D
