Amy Grace: Motherhood With A Camera, Part III

the first thing he said was a compound word, that he coined just for us. "mama-baby". this has been the theme for the last two years spent together. we are together, nearly always, day and night, at peace and in turmoil, tuned in to the same channel. i dream of being better about using my remote instead of my phone, to capture images of the closeness we live. but as i go through the daily images i take of him, i see us together in the frames. his face, my heart, the love reflected back in his eyes.
the thing i focus on the most, when i take my son's picture, is the stillness in him. this is a feat, as any mother and photographer knows, because they move, they run, they explore, they live in motion. but i try, to listen to the signals he projects, i try to anticipate the wonder he feels, as it builds up, as it stretches in a slow smile across his face. we know our children better than anyone else, and even if the pictures you take are not perfect, chances are they are meaningful and true. little ones are a constant, refreshing, earnest surprise. they simply do not take direction. i love this. it is my job to capture a picture rather than make one, to pay attention rather than direct, to listen rather than talk.
although i had already been a mother for six years, this little boy changed me. he was and is the most beautiful wake up call. i knew what it would be like to love him before he was here, thanks to his sister. each day is an adventure in patience that gives me a continuous sense of wonder. i laugh, i ache, i dream of sleep, i feel my heart growing exponentially by the beat. there has been a shift in my soul, and it reflects in the voice i feel emerging in my work. more than anything, i want to photograph love and emotion. this is one of his many gifts to me. i try to feel it and act on it every single day. i so encourage every mother and photographer to do the same.