Little Graham, new to this wide and beautiful world. These two dear friends of mine trusted me enough to document these precious early days of his life, during which I could barely say a thing because of the fragility of it all. The space itself was rich with it, unlike I’ve ever experienced two parents with a newborn before. This ache, this dream for a child, was shared with me before Graham was conceived. Some dreams are like that—aches so deep you deconstruct reality in attempt to understand them—it’s a type of grief. But to look upon this baby now in the arms of his parents, who love him unlike anything else, who are willing to learn and relearn and give everything once theirs away for and to him—they’re rich.
After our session, I was given the opportunity to hold Graham, and after some fussing he fell asleep upright, his tiny face pressed against my collarbone. My own dream was grazed inside me, then, and though I ached in a way, it allowed me to come present to the importance of what I had just captured. It allowed me to rejoice.