I’m not a newborn photographer. I’m a “let me tell a funny little story with pictures” photographer. I told Staci that because I didn’t want to hog Owen in the hospital, I’d snap a few newborn portraits when I dropped off her images.
I think Owen knew something was up. He was all like: Erika! You aren’t supposed to pose me! You’re supposed to sneak around and photograph me without me knowing it. What are you doing, Woman?!
But he then heard the click, settled into it and decided to give me a few pictures. He gave me all the goodness that makes a newborn: stork bites, squishy skin, wrinkles, and pure yumminess.
One last glance said: You got your shot, Woman. Get out. I need my Momma and Pops.
And so I did.
Tomorrow, we’re back to my normal Lego scattered floors, quilts, and/or Goats laughing.
Because if not, my ovaries might explode.