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A love letter to the kind of photos that help you remember what this season felt like.
It’s been nearly a decade since I became a mom

When I had my first baby almost ten years ago (how has it seriously been ten years?!), I knew I didn’t want her posed in a flower pot or tucked into a wooden crate with a tiny tiara on her head. Don’t get me wrong—those kinds of images were everywhere back then. They were popular, and when done well, they could be stunning.

But I couldn’t do it.

I didn’t want to remember her that way.
Because that’s not how I saw her.
That’s not how I felt her.

I wanted to remember the weight of her against my chest. The way she curled into me like she belonged there—because she did.
The little grunts and stretches, the way her fists clenched when she slept, the way her lashes brushed her cheeks.
Her dry little toes.
Her flaky shoulders.
That new baby scent I swear I can still smell if I close my eyes.