Working on the weekends is truly only the fear of adults, isn't it?

When you're young it doesn't matter as much. You have endless days; what is the harm of working on a few play days?

And then you begin approaching (read: careening towards) 30 and you tell yourself some stories. This is not right. I only have a handful left. I cannot squander the golden bookends of my weeks.

It’s important when we tell these stories, however, that we also take hold of the truth and that is: the nonfiction is actually much more satisfying than the drama.

Four years ago I felt pulled in so many different directions professionally. I am wedding photographer. Can I do more? Can I do it all?

Today, on Sunday, I arose at my usual 7 am.

I swear there is also some ancient magic hidden in the mornings we wake up to sunshine in Seattle. I arise believing, at minimum, I will bump into Ryan Gosling while ordering a cappuccino.

Scientific stuff, people.

Anyway, I truly wanted to do it all. Since no one should actually be doing it all, I indulged the wild hair I had to explore an entirely new avenue with Newborn, Child, and Family Photojournalistic Sessions just for the year.

• • •

I arrived to meet Fauve sometime around 10:00 am in her hospital room.

This radiant mama was freshening up to the tune of "Banana Pancakes."

No, I'm not making this up. I cannot. She is this lovely and indulges in Jack Johnson.

Sometimes when you're, oh I don't know, only 24 hours out of labor, it’s possible you're not feeling your most glamourous. I explained some of my cropping strategies for IVs, etc. to Fauve and her candid reply was, "oh, that's alright. This is all part of the experience, right?"

And she was not wrong. We spent just a handful of minutes together, bookmarking a few moments from her handsome boy's first day. The concern was not medical adornments or the the lack of an outfit or props— the focus was on their connection. I am so appreciative for beautiful souls that ground me in what really matters.