Home
About
Info
Birth Stories
Blog
contact
'RESPECT BIRTH' SHIRT

Milk And Hannah

Home
About
Info
Birth Stories
Blog
contact
'RESPECT BIRTH' SHIRT

SUMMIT

VIEW

SMITH

VIEW

SEBASTIAN

VIEW

CORBIN

VIEW

ELIOT

VIEW

IVIE

VIEW

AVETT

VIEW

SUSETTE

view

XAVIER

VIEW

FAQ / NEW CLIENTS / ABOUT / BLOG / PRICING / CONTACT

© MILK AND HANNAH 2015-2019

F E A T U R E D O N :

img_bclogo.png.pagespeed.ce.ZJxEbRrZDB.png

Interventions are not weakness.
Interventions are not weakness.
Interventions are not weakness.
One of my favorite photos of 2019 is this one- Alexandra choosing a little rest and relief.

One evening last week, a call came in to head her way, things were picking up. Shortly after that call, and without my presence, her baby girl was born on the dining room rug.

Babies never wait for birth photographers.... sometimes we just get lucky enough to get there first.
A round of applause for S. For entering the way we always should - loud, proud, and unapologetically.

Rainbow joy clothed in vernix.

I really can’t. I just can’t.

This small room with great light was filled with six women this day. All waiting with the goddess as she did the hard and good work of moving her child from the inside world to the out.

A collective divine energy that wanted the best and the wonderful and the life-changing for this barefoot wild woman lying on a blue scratchy pad tossed over her bedsheets. There was power in there. A pool of electric and soul.

Diffuser in the corner, her choice of 90’s funk metal playing through the sticky air of September. In that room were six world shakers. Six world shaking women - One soon to be holding her Sixth- a son.

Supportive sister hands and a painting by her beloved splashed above the bed. A gifted, too humble artist- his incredible work filled the walls of their home. Full of vibrancy and emotion and love- he painted with love. My favorite a textural conceptual piece in their dining room. I spent pauses looking at each and wondering how the hell one thinks this up in their mind... I never wrapped my head around it... still can’t.

The rain fell on the open window screens and I closed my eyes for a second- taking it all in. As she slipped into the tub, I slipped outside for my own soak. The grass, freshly mowed and dripping wet, stuck to my bare feet as I stepped between acorn tops and over the first crunchy orange leaves of fall. My face and arms accepting the drops that met my skin like a gift- a refreshing, glorious birthday gift in honor of the babe to come. I snapped some photos of what I could tangibly replicate there in the yard and the rest, I kept for myself.
6 babes, 5 of them roaming the land, sprawled in a pile on the sofa or immersed in wooden blocks on the floor. Blonde curls and blunt bobs and tea cups atop play kitchens. A plastic robot in a bassinet and library books.

And while life was lived in their home, their piece of this Earth, they awaited Six. Appearing at the door during surges holding cups of water and watching their own Matriarch with slow quiet breaths and wild curious wonder.

These stories are stories of triumphant birthing, yes. But also stories of families and color schemes and box fans turned off when baby arrives. Embroidered t-shirts and tight grips of little ones as they worry and wonder and wait. These are family stories.

I don’t have the words today- or probably this week to paint you a portrait of what this woman deserves to have written here. Until then, just know this space on the feed is yours, Jenny. You are remarkable.

The babies in the Merch. 😭😭😭