My Colorado Sunrise Maternity Photos
My Colorado Sunrise Maternity Photos with Lindsey and Lauren | Denver mountain photography
It was early Sunday morning when Lindsey, Lauren, and I pulled up to the location that we were going to take some photos. We had planned a sunrise session in the mountains and it would be the first time that I would have professional photos done of my pregnancy that didn’t involve a tripod and a timer. My second trimester “bump” had suddenly turned into the third trimester “belly” and with that, the feeling that time was moving faster than it had the last six months.
My first trimester was a bit of a fog— falling right on top of the panic of COVID and intense quarantining, we were also navigating the anxiety of a high-risk pregnancy. I had just enough morning sickness and extreme fatigue to actually want to be in lock down at home, and luckily right around ten weeks, the world became a little less scary at the same time that the doctors became a little less scared about us.
Second trimester, on the other hand, was both sweet and savory. I was no longer considered high risk and I was able to start shooting again. Our little bean started wiggling around, every prenatal test was coming back great, business was picking up, and we slowly reintegrated into traveling and visiting family again. All seemed to be right in the world and none of it went unappreciated.
Here we are now, embarking on the third trimester and simultaneously pushing through a surprisingly busy “busy season”. Our work is giving me life while I am growing a life and somehow nothing feels more natural. But I know that this time is fleeting, and in just a few weeks, we will officially hunker down to get into full on baby mode. Despite the buzzy/swarmy feeling that I have, I am also realizing my own desire to document this chapter.
Luckily, my friends are just as crazy and artistic as I am because what started as just having lunch together and catching up with Lindsey quickly turned into “let’s do a sunrise maternity session by a river”. I knew that I’d be running on fumes by then considering that the day before we would be driving out to Aspen, shooting a wedding, and then driving all the way back from Aspen. I also know that running on fumes isn’t always a bad thing and can serve us mentally and physically at times. So I enthusiastically jumped on board with this plan, and began manifesting my own vision for what I wanted to come from the shoot.
I can’t quite explain why, but I wanted something that felt intense, I wanted something cold, and I wanted water. Suffice it to say, I got exactly what I wanted.
When I first opened the door at the location, I was greeted with a sharp windblown chill and the reminder that Colorado weather guarantees nothing. The morning sun had started hugging itself across the horizon line, falling into its own unpredictable alpenglow as it worked against the wildfire smoke that could have easily be mistaken for rain clouds if you didn’t know better. The campfire smell was easy to ignore against the freshness of the autumn-kissed Aspens, and we all made our way down to the river knowing that the morning was about to be magical but unforgiving.
Nothing makes you realize the cold quite like standing practically naked in it, which was exactly how I would spend the next hour or so. We cycled through some beautiful outfits that Lauren had brought, which were more akin to garnishes on a plate than actually articles of clothing in terms of warmth. The light would come and go, but when it came, it would blanket my skin in a warmth much more soul satisfying than any jacket or blanket could have served me. It was then that I started to lean into the extreme sensations rather than work against them.
What a metaphor for birth itself, I began to think to myself as I chattered standing shin-high in the icy river. The snow-melted water would drag across my skin with a glasslike quality while slowly I worked through it so not to get swept down over the slippery rocks. We were all cold and we were all wet, but I would be the one physically trembling in front of their cameras.
The affect of Lindsey’s voice changed from photographer-to-doula (both of her specialties) as she calmly told me to take a deep breath. Just like that, my body would indeed stop trembling and I could control the previously uncontrollable chatter. That was the “aha moment” for me, realizing that in just a few months, that very exercise and experience could serve me in labor.
I realized that what I was feeling was physically intense, and at times downright uncomfortable. I laid in a pricker-laden shrub, against hard rocks, and eventually submerged my lower half into the river itself. But I also realized that I was safe, that the discomfort I was feeling would be temporary, and I was surrounded by two people who supported me. Again, a metaphor for birth.
I say this as someone who has never actually given birth before, but squirreling up all of the knowledge and resources possible to prepare for the experience. We are planning an unmedicated home birth and feel very confident that this is the best route for us. I am also practical enough to know that this is merely a plan, and all plans can become derailed. My Type-A side wants to meticulously craft the experience so that we don’t end up on the other side of our intended vision, but my intuitive side knows that the best way to do this also involves tapping into our instincts and nurturing our emotional strength.
Much like this photoshoot, I anticipate birth to be intense with moments of downright discomfort. I imagine that Terrence and I will be taken to extremes, but I also imagine moments of warmth and light. I am comforted by the fact that I will be safe and I will be surrounded by people who support me. I know that my breath work can make my body cease trembling, even if it is temporary and I have to be reminded to do it over and over.
I write this now on a plane back to New York a day after our chilly sunrise shoot: I am now warm and comfortable, sitting across from my husband who will occasionally smile through his mask at me and reach out a hand for a quick touch. What I am left with are these stunning photos from Lindsey and Lauren to remind me not only of my maternity experience, but as a way to empower us through the next few months. I am also left with a strong sense that not all discomfort is pain, and not all pain is without purpose. We should not fear intense experiences, rather welcome them into our lives as a way to learn more about ourselves and others. Here’s to the next few months of busyness and stillness, discomfort and euphoria, anticipation and patience, and all the other dichotomies that I believe can – and should – coexist in our lives.
– Heather