AJ's Birth Story | Maryland Birth Photography

"I CAN SEE A LOT OF LIFE IN YOU,

I CAN SEE A LOT OF BRIGHT IN YOU."

sufjan stevens

Ever since I got texts, a few weeks apart, that these two best friends were pregnant, I planned the following collage.  Two mamas, then two mamas and the first baby born, and then two mamas with the second baby born.  2, 2 + 1 = 3, 3 + 1 = 4.  In the picture of the four of them I wanted to have the babies in matching outfits.  But these pictures go 2, 3...3.  3 + 1 = 3.  No, that's not right.  But that's the point: it's wrong.  This place we breathe is wrong; death is wrong.  Families should never be pulled apart, tears should never fall.

"Yes, weep and grieve until the Spirit is poured down on us from above 
and the badlands desert grows crops, becoming fertile fields and forests. 
Justice will move into the desert.  

Right will build a home in the fertile field. 

And where there is Right, there will be Peace.  

And the promise of Right: joyous lives and endless trust. 
My people will live in a peaceful houses, in quiet gardens.  
You will enjoy a blessed life, planting well-watered fields and gardens."
Isaiah 32:15 The Message

"I CAN SEE A BED AND MAKE IT, TOO.

I CAN SEE A FIRESIDE TURN BLUE."

Soon and very soon even the sniffles and empty arms will be muffled and filled.  Until then, we have the shade of some sturdy, broad redwoods, covering us and giving us cool rest.  Sometimes Justice moves in the crook of your elbow -- "... loosing the pangs of death, giving back life, because it was not possible for him to be held down by the grave."  Life triumphs once again, little battles in this Earth War (spoiler alert: Life wins).  When a fertile field is a fertile woman, and a quiet garden is a 12x20 birth room at Shady Grove Hospital (where a Baby Fruit was ripe), you only look forward to the destruction of the badlands evermore.  Right will build a home, and no child shall be missing.

The look of compassion and care in one best friend to the other.  An unruly little tongue.  Laughter in between contractions.  Kisses on the head from a sensitive midwife.  The first push.  Grown adults weeping together.  Sleepy peepers (coming into this world is hard work, you know).  Labor being over.   Fat arms.  Being known.   A very fast labor (less than an hour after checking into the hospital we met a little boy).  Hospital ice chips.  Grandparents in the lobby.  Sharing our very selves.

"You will cry, but your grief will turn to joy.

A woman giving birth to a child has pain;

 but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that her child is here.

So with you: Now is your time of grief, 

but I will see you again and you will rejoice, 

and no one will take away your joy."

I'm grateful for all the things Baby AJ is to me, but especially how he gives me the gift of Safe Joy.  I see and hold him, think of him throughout the day, and clearly see his place in this story.  He has brought us so much happiness.  He's brought with him a bundle of heaven, a gift from Right.

(Becca: you are beyond strong and the definition of kindred love.  AJ has no idea what lot in life he got dealt by being able to be raised and loved by you.  I can see a lot of life in you.)

Five Years of Winkfields | Personal

"they can't understand the magic of your wonderland."

the fox + the hound

They were apartment neighbors, he saw her coming home from work, he tripped down the stairs , she laughed, they met, and when they got engaged they booked me for their wedding.  Ashley and Kyle started as perfect strangers...

... and somehow in the weird merge lanes of life, we became friends -- and I have been able to document some of the most significant experiences of their lives.  When I moved into my first apartment, they invited themselves over for dinner, arrived with gifts, sat on my tiny wobbly chairs, and made me feel like I lived in a palace.  Before I even started dating Caleb, they wanted to meet him.  We had lunch at Chipotle with their new puppy in Kyle's sweatshirt pocket.  They were at my wedding as friends.  And a couple of months later Ashley texted me: "We're having a baby! In June!" and I answered her back: "WHAT! Congratulations! (We're having a baby, too!  Also in June!") She responded back: "WHAT! Congratulations!"  So we were pregnant together, went stroller shopping together, ate Nando's chicken with our feet on the booth together.  We both knew we were having daughters.  We both were wrong.  Their son was due on June 7th, mine was due on June 6.  Their son was born on June 7th (ON HIS DUE DATE. Who does that?), mine was... late.  I photographed Jack entering this and their world.  They came to meet Rowdy at the hospital.  We had the best baby boys together.  When my mama was becoming more ill, they came over with more food (like cilantro-chicken soup and cornbread.)  When my mama passed away, they were at her memorial service.  When she found out I had miscarried Ryan, she sent me this text (she miscarried twice before Jack): "As painful as the loss is, you will now see a slight difference between yourself and other women who haven't lost.  They don't love their children any less; there's just a difference.  It's slight, but it's there.  Your next pregnancy will be different, and your subsequent doctor's appointments will be more apprehensive.  But.  It makes the healthy heartbeat more miraculous.   It makes each uncomfortable kick and wave of nausea that much more 'welcome.'  It makes each 'good appointment' that much more exhilarating. It makes things like 3.5 months of bed-rest *slightly*  more manageable.  It also makes your cry more sporadically over things you wouldn't normally cry over.  It makes you more.  And it makes your relationship with your husband more.  It makes your family more.  It makes those earthly babies more.  It makes life more."  This mother's day Ashley gave me a hand-painted Polish mug (it looks like something my mama would have bought.)  On Jack's first birthday, we were there to eat ribs and mac-and-cheese (and apparently duck...!) and celebrate life.  One more year of life, one more photoshoot, one more day, one more cake, one more laugh, one more time.

Though I'm particularly blessed with close friends, I'm so glad God let me have a few more.

(ps. Ashley: you're up! This world needs another caramel-pudge-cheesecake-child rawr-ing at the shower.  Plus, how cute would Jack look holding his little baby sibling? ;) 



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to book your own i'm kristen one-year or family session,  especially in the maryland/virginia/dc, new york/boston, or oklahoma to dallas areas E-MAIL ME HERE (i'll also be traveling around southern california + the lake tahoe/nevada areas in coming months.)

Shelby Leigh + Brian + Their Baby | Birth Story

in these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will diewhere you invest your love, you invest your life
MUMFORD & SONS - AWAKE MY SOUL

Caleb and I drove down their street.  House after house, virtually the same in story.  Porch lights on, maybe a window or two bright, the yard dark - most of the house dark - cars in park out front.  It was 8:30 pm and the end of a middling workday, in the middle of a fussy winter.   The outside of the Metzger home was forgettably normal in the lines of homes.  But inside.  Inside the walls, where only a select few could see, there was a nativity scene.










Brian greeted me at the door - he was on his way to heat up a slice.  "Everyone is upstairs! Go on ahead!"  Shelby's laughter made me a little bummed.  "Man, she must not be very far along if she's giggling like that."  She waved and rocked on her bouncy ball.  I "scolded" her ;) "You sound way too cheerful for a lady who is in labor!"  "Oohhh, it's just because I'm not having a contraction right now! Hahah! You'll see!" She barely finished her sentence before she silently buried her head.  Her two daughters eased from the floor onto the bed.  They watched her strength.  And gave pats of honor and love when Shelby's moans were heaviest.   Shelby's mom told her what a wonderful job she was doing.






Aside from the occasional grunts and "ooooooooOOOOOOOO's!" and the midwives in matching t-shirts, the evening felt weirdly like a typical evening.  There wasn't hub-bub or eerie silence or beeping.  The tub was filling with water, Mumford & Sons was playing, leftovers were on the counter.  Instead of feeling like normal life had been frozen in time with the labor progressing, it felt like normal life was indeed happening.  And it was.  Together.  Eating pizza, making mom laugh, and having a baby.  It was weirdly unweird.









By 9:00 Shelby was in her own bathtub, in her own clothes, with her own family tipping water onto her working body.  If I could dream up an analogy, it reminded me of highschool soccer games in September: when I'd come off the field at halftime and open my water bottle - not to drink - to pour on my head.  Spill it all over.  Mom and Brian spilled and spilled.  Her body was working harder than a soccer athlete.  And her baby was ready to meet her life on the outside.













Shelby's midwives were so calm.  They were very hands-off, yet gently "in charge." The first laugh I heard from Shelby when I walked up the stairs happened to also be the last laugh.  It was almost like the baby knew "Alright, everyone is here now."  The hour and a half in the bathtub proved to be terrible and yet efficient, and also genuinely beautiful.  Labor is like war, this battle a mother (and father and "support team") wage for the prize of delivery itself; to win skin-to-skin and eye contact; to obtain a person in your arms and announce "Welcome! You are so loved!"  I'm not sure who the enemy is, but the battle is real and vicious.

Shelby's "breaks" in-between contractions were short and honestly still exhausting.  She would close her eyes and take a few deep breaths and then, a new wave of movement and pain would surround her.  She fought hard.  They all did.

In the final few minutes of the labor, Shelby fumbled out a weary "I can't.  I can't do this. She's not coming and I can't do this."  Brian held her hand tighter.  "Yes you can.  You are.  This is incredible.  You're doing it.  She's coming, baby.  You can do it.  It's almost over."

With new resolve, Shelby decided she was done.  She had been in consistent labor for over 24 hours, active labor for the last four, and transition for over an hour now.  It was time.  Little Girl, Mama said "Come!"









In as much time as it would take for me to walk to their mailbox and back, the family changed.  Esme Rose was in their arms, with her pudgy, formed arms, dark soft hair, and immediately kissable cheeks.


Their joy was full.  In the calming quiet of night, they celebrated like a town greeting the victorious soldiers!  Tears, hugs, emotional feasting!










To quote the profound Ash Parsons:

"The moments of pain and the moments of joy are not as far apart as we may think."  

Honestly, pain and joy seem to be two hands that are best when held.  One just isn't quite the same without the other.  Pain and Joy tell a story, a story we all know chapters of.  Some understand the story, and others have only heard the story.  Pain is rescued by the promise of Joy, and Joy is sweetened by the demands of Pain.  Pain and Joy tell the story of Esme Rose.


Happy First Day of Life, young lady.  You'll always know it, but someday when you look at these images, try to let the love of your family hug you even closer.  Your mama is a determined, smart lover.  Your dad is kind and good.  Your sisters are doting, bright and quick.  Your grandmother is loyal and lovely.  And together they worked for you, together they cried and piled onto a bed to fight over who you looked at first.   They studied every little wrinkle and roll.  All eyes and hearts were on you, amazed to just be in your presence.  And I think you'll be pleased to realize this love and devotion isn't rare; it's weirdly typical of your entire life.