I almost didn't share these pictures of my boy and me, taken last May. Not because they aren't "good." My sweet cousin Amy, after I set up the shot and the camera, fired the shutter over and over in hopes of landing a few keepers. Because I'm never in the frame. But this day, I was going to be. And when I opened them up at home later that night and started to edit them, I was simultaneously filled with joy and shame. Joy for the connection. For the fact that I'm even a mother at all, since I was told that I would need to have IVF to get pregnant, and who among us can afford that? Not I. Well, 7 years and three kids later, I guess they were wrong. But that was a hard season for us, no doubt. There is great joy here.

But there was also in me a great shame. I was ashamed of how my tummy stuck out. I was ashamed of how my arms looked, a little too broad and soft. I was ashamed of my face, fluffier and older than I thought it should be. So I planned to do the work of editing myself, to diminish myself in Photoshop. Because let me tell you, the world has let me know from time immemorial that I SHOULD shrink. That there SHOULD be less of me. That I was too much. That my thoughts and my body took up too much space here on this earth. Too much skin, too many disruptive ideas, too loud, too dreamy, too many questions. And that I SHOULD be smaller, quieter, and more agreeable with the status quo.

Well. I've grown weary of SHOULD. I've not only grown weary of it, I've OUTGROWN it. Because when my boy sees these pictures of us together, my tummy, arms and all, he will see only us. US. He'll see the body that gave him life, the arms that cherish him, the eyes that look at him with such love and admiration and fear and joy and hope and protection and bliss it sometimes makes me weep.

Because the way this boy, my last babe, came into the world, naturally and unmedicated, has taught me that I can do hard things. You see, I've always been a little (or a lot) afraid of pain. I don't want conflict, even if that conflict is necessary for growth. I don't want to fail. I don't want to let anyone down. I don't want to hurt. But my 12 hours of labor and 6 hours of hard labor have taught me that I am braver, stronger, wilder, more present, and more capable than I ever imagined. So, world, here we are, un-Photoshopped. Him and his sweet angel curls and feisty temperament, and me with my big skin, big hopes, big questions, and big love.

On the Eve of Two | Kristen Rue Photography | Nashville Family Photographer