Starting a family is scary. Growing your family is scary. So many moms have expressed to me the guilt-ridden fear they felt before the birth of their second, that they couldn’t possibly open their hearts to love this little one as much as their first.

And then suddenly they're here and they find their hearts are suddenly twice as big.

“We’ve been meaning to get family pictures taken for…how old is he? 10 months? Yep— that’s how long!” Francesca told me, as we stepped out into the gorgeous garden at Hartwood Acres Mansion.

Before I became a parent, the idea that 10 whole months can just slip away from you seemed a little unbelievable. Even now, there are days that seem like they move in slow-motion, where we have infinite time to do all of the things we want (with the notable exception of “sleep"). 

Trust me— I know how much time, whining, wrangling, and bribing can go into getting the whole family on board with pictures. Historically, you’re used to having the announcement “we’re having family pictures taken!” met by groans and grimaces. Getting everyone dressed and out the door should be an Olympic sport, and by the time you’ve survived the car ride—keeping the kids up precariously close to bedtime so your photographer can shoot at “golden hour,” whatever that is— you’ve used up most of your snack bargaining chips. 

But I can promise you, you’re not going to regret it. 

Since becoming a mother myself, newborn photography has touched my heart in ways I never could have expected. Maybe it is still the postpartum hormones. Maybe it is because the milk-drenched, sleep-deprived memories are still so fresh. But as soon as I look through my lens at this new mama, new baby, and new family dynamic, I realize that my focus has shifted. 

My focus has shifted away from the way things look to focusing on the way things feel. I focus on the warmth in the room. On the love between mom and dad, and this new little blessing wrapped up in their arms. I focus on the tiny, tender moments that otherwise would blur together and melt away in those first few crazy, hazy weeks. Because now I know, personally, how quickly the time flies by. 

It’s a running joke in my family: I am terrible at secrets. 

Well, my own secrets, that is.

Every Christmas and birthday for the first few years of our marriage I would get too excited and ruin whatever gift surprise it was that I’d been keeping for my husband well before the actual celebration. As a Recovering Type A Personality, I don’t exactly love surprises for myself either, but I’m working on it.

For everyone else, though, I am a LOCKED. BOX. 

Y’all have no idea the powder keg of secrets I’m sitting on right this very second.