maternity shoot

 Over Memorial Day weekend I was in cahoots to pull off one of the greatest surprises ever for my tall guy.  Since our move, he has been begging his sister to come and visit before her migration to the south Pacific this summer.  Very quickly, time and weekends were dwindling away and he was convinced that she would not be able to come.

Little did he know that we had a plan...

The Friday of Memorial Day weekend, I lied to my husband that my brother, a pilot, had a layover long enough for dinner here in Atlanta.  This was how I got Mr. F to the airport with me.   A lie.  I think he's forgiven me.  When we got to the airport, he dropped me off at the terminal so I could use the bathroom (because, well, I'm eight months pregnant...), and go find the Stud.  He looped the airport and when he came back to baggage claim, there I was, not with my brother, but his sister!  There were some screams, hysterical laughter, and huge smiles.

I have no photos of them that weekend because they went and played on their own the whole time.  They went to a music festival near Augusta to watch pig races and hear one of Mr. F's favorite bands.  They ate ice cream, toured town, walked, talked, shared YouTube videos, and just had the time of their lives.  I loved when they came home at night brimming with smiles.  With major changes on the imminent horizon for both of these siblings, the odds of them being able to have time like this again is very slim.  I am so glad and grateful that they had that weekend together!

My one request for the weekend was that Sister bring her camera so she could take some maternity photos for us.  One morning, the three of us rolled out of bed with the sun, got dressed, and sauntered into the nursery.  Sister sat us down and took some of the most wonderful candid shots of us that I am always going to treasure.

When I thought about maternity photos, I wanted something that felt more natural to me.  While I love the shots of women in flowing gowns, grasping their bellies in the middle of long-grassed fields, that just wasn't me.  I wanted photos that captured my memories of this miracle pregnancy.  That meant my hair in  a top knot, because I'm too tired to do my hair beyond that, my favorite white blouse, the nursery that I have been pumping all of our hopes and dreams into as we get ready for baby girl, and my best friend.  I absolutely wanted Mr. F with me in the photos.  

Watching my gentle giant prepare for the birth of his first child has been incredible.  He has been so gentle and patient with me.  In the mornings as he wakes up, the first thing he always does is reach across the bed for my belly.  He talks to his daughter constantly, shares his daydreams for her future with both of us.  His capacity for love has expounded ten-fold and it just amazing to behold.

So there are no fields.  No flowing gowns.  Just us.  In our favorite room talking about our favorite girl.  Just us and her books, the chair we'll rock her in, the gown we'll dress her in.  Just us and our girl.  And all the cheese (:

nursery..so far...

To say I am pleased with the way the nursery is coming together is SUCH an understatement!  It is hands down my favorite room in the house.  From the natural light, Hyacinth the Water Buffalo serving as guardian spirit on the wall, to the hand painted wallpaper and feminine touches.  It is just so sweet!

This week we got a dresser in there and it has made such a difference.  Prior to this, baby girl's clothes and accoutrements have all been piled in her crib and on a rolling Ikea cart.  Suddenly the room feels big again thanks to organization and things having a home.

The wallpaper took awhile but was totally worth the work.  For a few dollars of craft paint, I was able to create the look I wanted.  Mr. F absolutely loves the look of the flowers on the wall.  I still have plans to add a faux chair rail to separate the wallpaper from the naked wall beneath.  

By the time baby comes, her room will probably change a lot.  There are dreams of shelves over the dresser, the dresser will also serve as a changing table.  My new favorite wicker rocker will be brought up from the living room and replace the wingback.  Things like that.  For now though, it just makes me wildly happy that it's coming together!  I'm finally feeling like we're in decent shape to welcome her home.  I know, wallpaper won't matter a lick to her, but having a place that feels complete and like home is really good for my mental well being.

sources: dresser- ikea, riding car- church rummage sale, wingback chair- hand me down, pink gingham pillow- ikea as is bin, rug- nordstrom, Hyacinth- target, hexagon quilt- handmade gift, toy basket- goodwill, crib- ikea, bumper pad- goodwill

just because...

Just because I want to remember these sweet moments.  I want to savour my husband's giggles and shock as he feels his daughter grooving inside of me.  I want to remember stealing a few extra moments in bed together before starting the day.  Because I want to remember the amorphous shape of my belly as it contours to baby girl's adjustments.  Just because.  But mainly, because I never thought I'd be able to make these memories and I want to cherish all of them...

for more bump and nesting photos, be sure to follow along on instagram.  you can find me under the handle seewhatiseadesigns.

watch and listen

Pregnancy has changed me more than I thought possible.  I had been warned about morning sickness, stretch marks, and swelling ankles.  Luckily, these experiences have not been part of my journey.  There has been fatigue, nose bleeds, and the need to slow down.  Our weekend walks look like Mr. F is escorting his geriatric counterpart from the nursing home I move so slow.  But I can still move. 

My nesting urges have been insatiable at times.  I will feel an insane amount of guilt and anxiety if I am not painting wallpaper in the nursery, hanging artwork, or foraging for furniture.  I am learning to ignore these urges to some extent as my body requires more rest and bedtime.  The baby's wellbeing is not contingent on floating shelves, I have to tell myself.  Some days I listen better than others.

The most fascinating change in me, aside from my daily recognition that somehow my body is capable of growing another human, is spiritual.  Almost as strong as my need to nest is my need to know where I come from.  This began with a hunt for names for our child.  Very quickly it became clear to me that I didn't just want to use names from family history, I needed to, even though I could not explain the need. 

So I began searching.  I started with Mr. F's family, as his relatives have done an incredibly thorough job tracking their legacy.  I followed them through North Carolina, Ontario, England, and Scotland, eventually landing somewhere in the 12th or 13th centuries in France.  Nearly 1,000 years of my husband's forbearers stretched out before me.  Their names and locations gave hints at their stories and I could see the traits come to life in my husband.

Then we looked at my family, which was much harder, and is still in process.  I called my dad and he gave me access to his online files.  For the first time in my life, I saw his family tree beyond my great grandparents.  The history I thought I knew was so different.  There were photos and some stories.  Names, dates, locations.  Family.  For the first time, I had a clearer sense of where I came from.  My Anglophilia was justified, as well as my mild addiction to Brigadoon and the Outlander series.  I stared at the computer screen, soaking in the spider web of a pedigree chart and all I could think was, Are they proud of me?  Do they know that their hard work is ushering in another generation?  

My maternal ancestry has been harder to track, due in large part to me losing a printed file full of work my mom had put together.  As Anglo based as my father's side is, my mother's is even more Swedish.  Both of her parents are first generation Americans with records for her grandparents and beyond being either still in Sweden or in Swedish. I am the first descendant since the immigration to pick up Swedish again, and my skills with it are rudimentary at best.  (I can wish you a happy birthday and probably order a hot dog.)

In the midst of my search for my Swedish kin, the most remarkable gifts for baby girl have been pouring in.  My grandfather's infant sleeping gown, sweaters made by my great grandparents, handmade blankets from relatives living and gone.  We have inherited a sweet little rocker that Mr. F was rocked in by his grandfather, not to mention toys Mr. F played with as a babe.  Each time one of these packages arrives, I am filled with the same sense of connection to who I am, who we are.  This little baby we are so excited about is the joy of many, even those came long before her.  

Not long ago, my great aunt and uncle were in town visiting their children and grandchildren. It is a great joy to me that living in Atlanta has afforded more frequent interaction with these sweet souls.  After a delicious dinner, I ended up in the kitchen with my cousin and my great aunt, the three of us catching up and dreaming together.  All at once my aunt disappeared to her room, returning just as quickly with an armful of sweetly wrapped packages.  The largest was beautifully festooned by her other daughters, with calligraphy inscriptions and baby-inspired stickers.  Inside was a tiny little stuffed animal for the baby from one daughter and a handmade blanket from the other.  "As soon as she heard about the baby, she started knitting!"  I was so overwhelmed by the love of these cousins that I know so little of.  We are family and that was enough for them to share in our joy.

The remaining two packages were wrapped in pink tissue by my aunt.  In one was a circular tin photo of my great-great grandmother, whose wedding invitation hangs on my bedroom wall.  The photo is of her as a little girl and I could briefly glimpse what my own daughter would look like.  The last package was my great grandmother's baby book.  In it is delicately inscribed the precious memories of her first year.  There are newspaper clippings in Swedish and English announcing her birth.  Some of the pages are in English, others in Swedish.  Simple phrases marking her growth.

All at once, my Swedish family who I have been trying to find was there with me, celebrating with me, teaching me.

The author Linda Hogan wrote, "Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.”  This is what pregnancy and the promise of motherhood has given me.  It is not just expanding my family with Mr. F, it has given me all of my family.  I can feel them with me, carrying me, supporting me, praying and cheering for me.  I hear them calling to my daughter, You are the result of the love of thousands.