Happy mothers' day, Americans, from this mother of Americans currently all the way over here in England.

When I was pregnant, both times, I felt like I was part amateur science experiment, part golden goddess, part effortless overachiever, part doomed creature being eaten alive by an ever-growing parasite. (Isn’t it odd how it feels mind-bendingly monumental but it's objectively the most normal thing on earth, something entirely mundane that humans and animals have been doing all this time?)​​​​​​​​


It was BIZARRE and I was simultaneously in love with it and terrified by it. Now I’m writing this lying on the five year old’s bed

with my feet up on the wall while feeding the two year old, and I can’t quite get my head around the concept of ever having been pregnant at all — THESE kids? As tiny as POPPYSEEDS? Inside ME?… but I also still feel like they are literally parts of my body that have somehow escaped and grown sentient. ​​​​​​​​It's such an odd concept to live with.


Anyway, I wish I had a ton more pictures of myself when I was pregnant. I barely have any, despite the fact that WE’RE BOTH PHOTOGRAPHERS. It was so crazy and so quick and I want to document it for every other mother, forever and ever.​​​​​​​​ There's no work that feels as important to me as motherhood portraits.