There’s something I wish I could see again—not just in my mind, but in a photo I could hold in my hands.

It’s me, pregnant with Bayden. And again, with Camden. I can picture it faintly—the way I’d rest my hand on my belly without thinking, the way my body changed, stretched, carried. But I don’t have many photos from that season. A few random snapshots, maybe. But not the kind that make you stop and remember how sacred and beautiful that time really was.

I do have photos from my pregnancy with Maxden—one sweet session where I let myself be seen, where I documented the quiet miracle of growing him. And I’m so grateful for those. But if I’m honest, I often wish I had done the same with my older boys. That I had stepped in front of the camera more. That I had made it a priority to capture that part of their story—and mine.

Pregnancy is fleeting, even when it feels like forever in the moment. It’s tender and raw and powerful. It’s the beginning of everything. And yet, it’s often one of the most undocumented seasons in a mother’s life.

That’s one of the reasons I get emotional when a mama books a maternity session with me. She may not realize it yet, but she’s giving herself and her baby something deeply meaningful—a way to remember what it looked like, what it felt like, to carry life.

I think that’s why I value photographing families regularly. Not just for the big milestones, but for the in-between chapters. Because I know what it feels like to look back and wish there was more.

Photos help us remember. They honor the moments we didn’t realize were already turning into memories. And I never want another mama to look back and think, I wish I had a photo of that.