Halfway to One

My babies have never been big fans of portrait sessions. And by that I mean that they usually scream their purty little heads off until the photographers ask us (not in so many words) to leave. Please. When they turn one, something magically happens and they think that a stranger behind a camera is suddenly a great idea, but until then it’s pretty much hopeless.

My first experience with this was when Lucy was three months old. I ended up bringing her home from the photographer’s studio where she had screamed and fallen asleep, and, after a good nap, I set up my own little photo shoot.

She loved it. Smiled the whole time.

At six months, I tried again. After this failed attempt, I went and bought a white bed sheet to use as a backdrop, seeing that I’d probably be doing this again. (Looking back, I definitely should have gotten a higher thread count or something wrinkle-free. But that is what Photoshop is for, right?)

By no means did the photos that I took compare to the equipment and eye of a professional, but they were good enough for me to send to relatives and put in her baby book.

Nine months came. I don’t think I need to tell you what happened.

Then along came Josiah. His personality was so different, I thought that perhaps I’d have better luck, and that maybe he’d be enamored with his fledgling photography sessions and I’d get some wonderful professional photos of him as a bitty baby.

How foolish of me.

I brought out the white bedsheet several more times that year.

By their first birthday, the photog phobia my children have experienced seems to disappear, but until then I’ve just decided not to even attempt it with my third child.

(And, no, I do not believe that the third time’s a charm, as I hear so often!)

So, since we marked Adam’s half birthday last week while attending his great-grandmother’s funeral, this weekend was my first chance to chisel out some time to bathe, prep, and shoot.

Here are the unedited photos.

I had to start with some diaper shots. Just got to record those rolls!

Michelin Man, you ain't got nothin' on my baby boy!

He seemed to be having fun, though with him rolling so much, having him on our bed was a little precarious, like when he flipped for this shot. (Definitely giving the camera some love here, though, don't you think?)

After I got a few in nothing but the diaper, I thought I should put him in some proper clothing. Of course, as soon as I did, this happened.

Not only did my flash accidentally go off, but do you see something there at the corner of his mouth? That was the tip of the iceberg. He spit up. A lot. On his navy blue outfit.

So I cleaned him up, and he did it again. This baby is not typically a ‘spitter’!

After cleaning him up a second time, uh, you guess what happened again.

Clearly I chose the wrong day for this.

But instead of scrapping it all, I put him on his belly to hide all the wet spots on his clothes and got one last chance at a good one.

Yup, perfection went out the window a looooong time ago. These are good enough for me (and will look even better once I “iron” the white sheet with Photoshop and touch up the drool spots).

They capture his sweet smile. They show off his ample rolls of squishable lovey-ness. They record his crazy-fluffy hair.

And in that sense, they are perfect to me.

Our families will love them. And they’ll be just right for his baby book. Done and done.