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There’s a moment that happens almost every time.
Ten minutes into the newborn photography session: I’ve gently rocked their baby to sleep, wrapped them carefully in a soft hand-knit blanket, maybe added a bonnet or a tiny knitted onesie. The house is quiet—just the soft clicks of my camera and the quiet rhythm of a new baby’s breath.
And then I hand that little bundle back to Mum.
Without fail, she pauses.
Looks down.
Takes a deep breath.
And often…she starts to cry.
It’s not sadness. It’s not exhaustion (although I know there’s plenty of that, too). It’s something else entirely. It’s presence. That rare, beautiful moment where the noise clears just long enough for it all to land: This baby is mine. We made them. They’re here. And we’re doing it.
I’ve been a newborn photographer for more than a decade, and a mum for just as long. I’ve worked with hundreds of families. I’ve seen love in all its raw, sleepy, messy, wide-eyed glory.
But it took me years to realise that I’m not just taking photos. I’m holding space for presence—for people to feel.
Because those first few weeks? They’re a whirlwind.
You don’t eat a hot meal.
You don’t sit still.
You don’t know what day it is.
You’re measuring time in feeds and nappy changes, texts you haven’t replied to, washing you haven’t folded, and tiny cries that pull you out of any half-formed thought. You’re healing, adjusting, loving, learning, wondering if you’re doing it all wrong—or maybe even doing it just right.
In a newborn session, something slows down.
I’ll gently guide a parent to sit near a window, baby cradled in their arms, the light soft and golden. I’ll ask them not to smile or pose, just to breathe, to look at this tiny person, to let themselves feel it.
And something shifts.
There’s stillness.
Sometimes tears.
Always awe.
Photographing newborns taught me to find the quiet.
It taught me to stop chasing perfection (in the photo, in the day, in the parenting). It taught me that beauty lives in the in-between—between the yawns, the feeds, the snuggles. That time slows if we let it. That the tiniest things—a curled toe, a sleepy sigh, a hand gripping your shirt—are the ones that will break your heart wide open when you look back years from now.
And it taught me to be with my own children differently.
Before photography, I was a chronic multitasker. Folding washing while helping with homework. Checking emails while pushing a swing. Taking pictures of them, but not always being with them.
But now? I watch the light hit my daughter’s curls and stop what I’m doing. I sit in the sun with my son and listen instead of rushing through the next “to-do.” I take the photo—and then I put the camera down and get in the frame too.
We live in a world that tells us to move faster. Hustle harder. Do more.
But parenthood begs us to do the opposite.
It pleads with us to look closer.
To move slower.
To notice.
That’s what a newborn photoshoot really is—a pause button. A chance to step outside the chaos for just a moment and witness what’s unfolding: the way your partner looks at your baby, the way your baby fits in your arms, the way love has already changed you forever.
So here’s my invitation to you:
Don’t wait for a photoshoot.
Don’t wait for the mess to clear or the milestone to come.
Pause today.
Hold your baby.
Look at them—not through a screen, but through your own, tired, adoring eyes.
Breathe it in.
Because it’s fleeting.
And it’s everything.
~
author: Daniella Stein
Image: Personal Image
Editor: Molly Murphy
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