I’ve spent some time with new mothers lately and I’ve been thinking so much about how that journey is so different for everyone. And also just how fast it all goes.
These tiny bundles of pure, innocent joy. Unable to do anything for themselves. A hazy memory that seems so far away for me with my babies now between 8 and 11. The bliss of hearing nothing but gurgles, gulping of milk and crying. With my children’s personalities and big voices, I miss the silence of raising babies, and then, the tiny chatter of delicious toddlers. Miss that you could wrap them up and hold their entire bodies in your arms, close to your chest for hours on end. Now they are tall and gangly and loud. And still wonderful.
I photographed Lauren with her son, just 24 hours after he arrived, then again at home about a week later. Watching her navigate everything like a deer in headlights – her own admission! – was nothing short of beautiful. Watching parents love on their firstborn, that love that just knocks you for six. You thought you were prepared to love this little person you’ve been carrying for the best part of a year. But it’s nothing compared to the explosion once baby arrives.
Watching Lauren, wide eyed with wonder that she had made such a perfect little person, marvelling at everything he could do.
She is oblivious to the magnitude of her power yet. Completely unaware of her unending offerings. And her beauty. Like so many before her, she complained of little sleep and looking dreadful. And all I could see was this blossoming flower, opening toward the light. Incredibly beautiful in her new skin. Eleven years ahead of her, I marvel at how much she will learn. Sometimes all at once, and at other times, just tiny pocketfuls of wisdom – just enough for the next challenge.
Ahhh, the magic of motherhood.