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

Photography: Lindsey Eden & Lauren Wright

Half Baked: Twenty Week Bumpdate

Half Baked: Twenty Week Bumpdate | Apollo Fields Wedding Photographers

I have never been the kind of girl to try on a bunch of outfits before going out.  In fact, I have always prided myself on not being that kind of girl.  Now at twenty weeks pregnant, I am most definitely that girl. 

On goes a shirt, off goes a shirt, on goes a dress, dress comes off, grab a tank top, hold it up in front of my chest, yeah that’s a no-go, throw it all on the floor in a pile.  Then I’ll stand in front of the mirror half naked wondering how it is possible to barely recognize the person looking back at me.  I will freeze in that frustration for a little while, then reach back into my closet for another shirt.  

Rinse and repeat.  

I can go way down the rabbit hole in this cycle of trying to make my tried-and-true pre-pregnancy clothes look the way they used to, but it is usually futile and ends up with me shoving them in my crawl space that I’ve now designated as the burial ground for clothes that I probably won’t see for another year or so.  Another one bites the dust, then I slam the door shut.  

I’ll reach for one of the hand-me-down maternity outfits I’ve been given and try to come to terms with that outfit.  Leopard print.  Wow.  I don’t think I’ve ever worn leopard print in my entire life… am I about to wear leopard print today?  Try it on-- yikes-- I am definitely not a leopard print girl.  Throw that in the pile too.  

So there I am, still half naked, still standing in a pile of fallen soldiers (I glance down at my favorite gray J.Crew shirt-- you were a good friend), and that god forsaken mirror reminds me that yes, my belly button just keeps getting weirder looking.  “When did you get so fucking vain?” I think to myself, almost out loud.  

I was deep in the struggle this morning when my husband walked upstairs and found me practically hiding in the closet like a dog on the Fourth of July.  I was wearing nothing more than my underwear, a bralette, and my frustration and he just says, “You’re having a moment, aren’t you?”

Yep.  Definitely having a moment and it didn’t take too long before I tried explaining how nothing fits and my whole body feels foreign and I am gaining weight in the one place that society has told me to never gain weight and someone jokingly called me ‘fatso’ yesterday but why didn’t that feel like a joke but also everyone tells me my bump is cute but maybe I should hide the bump better so people stop telling me to take it easy and not move a chair but more importantly my body is healthy and I feel great and why can’t I just be grateful that I’m healthily pregnant how many women would kill for this but I am grateful so why don’t I feel sexy??

Woof, dude.  That run-on sentence was basically the word-vomit that came tumbling out of my mouth before I started crying.  Or maybe I just cried my way through the whole thing but it didn’t take long before realizing that very little of this actually had to do with the way I looked or how I actually felt. 

The truth is, I feel great.  In many ways, I feel better than I did before we got pregnant.  I have tons of energy, I eat like a monk, I’m active, I’m working, my skin has never looked better, I feel strong and I feel healthy.  So what’s the problem?  

The problem, as it turns out (and I shouldn’t be surprised because it is my dark shadow), is actually centered around control and power.  I am afraid that by looking pregnant, people will assume that I either won’t be as good at my job or that I shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.  Think this sounds like an outdated problem?  Think again.  I was literally reprimanded by an older Indian man at a wedding last week for shooting when I should be home resting.  “Where is your husband?”  he asked me,  “Your husband should be taking the pictures instead.  You should have an assistant”, he insisted.  

My blood was boiling.  Not only was I perfectly capable of working that job, but I was there to crush that gig, which I did.  I plan on crushing gigs as long as I can, having this baby, and then getting back to crushing gigs.  It is just what I do and who I am and that doesn’t automatically make me selfish or any less-mother.  

So now I’m all revved up and high on my feminism but holy ego it’s time to check all that because Terrence reminds me that I am going to get a lot more pregnant and our priorities are going to have to shift eventually.  A sobering thought for someone who derives as much of their sense of self from their ability to get-shit-done-for-themselves, but alas, he’s right.  Things will change and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.  I have to realize that maybe I can’t wear my favorite gray J.Crew shirt for a while, but I don’t have to walk out of the house in leopard print, either.  

People love to comment on women’s bodies.  They especially love to comment on pregnant women’s bodies.  This probably isn’t going to stop in the next few months, so it is up to me to learn how to navigate this new chapter.  Unpacking my own skinny privilege and the pang of the scale every time I see the numbers climb is all valid and real, but the actual work for me comes up when I am told by a colleague, “Oh, I just assumed you wouldn’t be working now so I haven’t been sending you any leads”.  That one that actually stung, and was maybe the reason I wanted to hide my bump in the first place.  

Our identity is huge, and as women we forfeit a lot of that during pregnancy (and subsequently motherhood).  It is not all bad:  Personally, I have taken better care of myself both mentally and physically because for the first time in my life, it’s not just for me.  Pushing myself to my absolute limits is no longer a badge of honor but can have very real negative effects on a baby, so I have had to find a long overdue new normal for myself.  But I am still working-- I’m still shooting and I’m loving it and I really do plan on doing it as long as I can.  Yes, things are shifting but at the end of the day I am still me, except now I try on clothes about forty times before leaving the house.  

– Heather

Oh, baby! Announcing our Pregnancy in 2020: Vulnerability and Optimism in Photography

Oh, baby! Announcing our Pregnancy in 2020: Vulnerability and Optimism in Photography | Apollo Fields

The first thing I see when I look at these pictures of my wife, Heather, aside from her powerful, natural beauty, is the expression on her face. The way that the curl of her lips bends ever so slightly toward a smile as her chin drops a little. I notice the way that her jawline and the curve of her shoulder become parallel, creating a window of light between the shadows. As my eyes move down her arms and around her body, I begin to read the story wrapped into her posture; the gentle grip of her hands and fingers as they hug her breast and belly, the baby bump that protrudes from her pelvis in a blanket of light. Yet sitting in the whites of her eyes, the tragedy of our ectopic pregnancy lingers, staring back at the lens through a fragile shield of doubt. Then, although we will never forget, it disappears in an instant—as soon as you swipe the screen—and all that remains is Heather’s steely resolve. This is my wife. The soon to be mother of our first born child. 

A couple years ago we shared a picture of us seated on the floor of our cozy cottage in Colorado, surrounded by cardboard boxes and cleaning supplies, crying as we were moving back east. We took great pride in this moment of vulnerability, in sharing the emotions that we were sure that anyone who has ever moved can understand. We shared it because we wanted to tell our story as authentically as possible, and to us that has to include the tears and tough times. We didn’t know that in the years to come we would build on this strength in vulnerability, and make it a cornerstone of our storytelling.

A couple of months later in 2018, Heather shared a post about her emergency surgery on Christmas Eve that resulted from an ectopic pregnancy. We now laugh at the image of our former selves crying on the floor in our Colorado home; oh boo hoo, I have to move. All joking aside, we recognize that a person’s vulnerability falls on a spectrum that is predicated upon their past, and that emotional walls stand to protect that which is fragile. We understand now more than ever that we must be careful with our words as they are symbols of our actions and beliefs. We have taken great care with how we deliver this personal message from our hearts to yours.

With the news of Heather’s pregnancy in early Covid-19 days, we were buoyed in quarantine with hopes of parenthood. Yet we each cast an eye of doubt at all of the good news that came out of the high-risk appointments, fully expecting another tragedy to land. Eventually, we made it past all those uncertain days only to see the tragic video of George Floyd’s death a couple days later. We watched as Black Lives Matter protests swept the nation and social media became even more flooded with animosity than it already is. Heather and I spoke everyday, rewriting take-after-take on what kind of message we should deliver in solidarity with BLM as Apollo Fields. We were trying to show our support for the movement while also delivering the news from our personal lives. 

We were scared that anything we said could somehow be misunderstood. We were worried that our brand hasn’t represented the black community enough. We were worried that putting our clients who are persons of color front and center would appear disingenuous. We were (and are) increasingly appalled at the demonstrations of systemic racism that still run through the veins of this country. We questioned the American ideals of freedom and democracy altogether. We were vulnerable. We are vulnerable. And we should be.

Heather’s face in those pictures goes from worried to resolute. In that instant, you swipe away all of the nights of tears that we’ve endured. I think as a nation we were taught that Abraham Lincoln in 1863 did the same thing for blacks in this country—that he swiped away all of their suffering with one swoop of the pen—in June 2020 it is very clear that he didn’t. 

I remember sending Heather into surgery on Christmas Eve, pulling words from out of thin air, trying to tell her that it’s going to be okay. I remember holding her hands when she got out as her purple lips trembled, her teeth chattering from the anesthesia. Are there any more blankets? She asked through her shivering lips. I remember just holding her hands—and looking into her vibrating green eyes—grateful that I could into them once again. I couldn’t imagine ever getting angry at her. I had never felt something like that before, like I momentarily understood the depth of human experience: there were no words, there were no feelings, there was just being who I had to be for someone else.

As I write this I am squirming in my chair, procrastinating by getting up to do household tasks I’ve avoided, diverting my attention from focusing on my own vulnerability. I’m grappling with the process of becoming a father amid a pandemic alongside the development of the BLM movement. It feels like I’m standing in a house and the walls are cracking all around me. Chunks of the ceiling crash into the wooden floor like meteors into the earth. I am holding my child under one arm, bowing my head over Heathers, trying to shield us as best I can. The open air in the doorway provides an escape but a support beam plummets down, blocking our path. There is no running. 

This is the state of the world like it is the state of my mind. It is a battleground for what we and I stand for.

I stand for BLM, I stand for my child, and I stand for vulnerability; for I believe therein lies the strength to carry us from tears to resolve, from rebuilding a broken house into a stable one. It all starts by tearing down the walls, embracing our vulnerability, and sharing our story with the world.  This is our life, the soon to be home of our first born child.

– Terrence

Announcing our pregnancy to family in the time of Coronavirus made for a lot of FaceTime calls but one very special social distanced trip to my 95 year old Nana.

Our celebration hike at Target Rock the day the doctors confirmed that we weren’t having another ectopic.

One of the only perks of being high risk was getting sonograms every few days and being able to see this little bean turn into a recognizable babe!

Still adventuring and still riding (bump in tow).

A slightly more predictable pregnancy announcement portrait. Could have dropped these instead but hey, that’s just not how we roll!