v + y = e & e

becoming a parent for the first time is life-changing for pretty much everyone. mind shattering for most. some have been waiting for this moment for as long as they can remember. others stumble upon a destiny they never thought would be their own. in my case, i was somewhere in between. i'd always wanted children but never thought i was responsible or practical enough to be a good mother. i always thought that i was too marginal, too much of a party animal, too opinionated to bring a child into this world in a fair, respectful and loving manner. i was scared and didn't trust myself and my instincts - most seemed to go against the grain of any decent parent i'd come across in my lifetime.

when i met yann, my biggest worry of the day was what i'd eat for supper - if anything at all. my diet consisted mainly of poutine, pizza, pasta, beer and cigarettes. i never ate breakfast, was almost always late for class, went into work drunk a few times (nothing to be proud of, i assure you) and spent most of my time drinking with whomever was available. bringing a child into the equation just didn't seem to make any sense at all - especially since i was single. but single or not, i knew i wanted to be a mother and for some reason, like most people my age, i felt i needed to get certain things done before achieving this goal. i thought i needed to finish school. that i needed a steady, full-time job. that i needed to be in a commited relationship for atleast 5 years. that maybe i even needed a house. that i needed to be engaged, then married. i felt that anyone who had a child without those things was - ironically - irresponsible and selfish. it seemed like there were so many steps between me and this diaper dream that it just wasn't going to happen for another 10 years. so i had just settled into this party-filled, carefree lifestyle. and it suited me just fine.

when i met yann, i was just fresh out of a relationship. heartbroken, i guess... from what i can remember - not that it really matters anymore. i had decided to put love aside for a while and to concentrate on the last few months of photography school. it was a passion of mine that i was hoping to turn into a profession and wasn't about to mess it up. i wanted to be serious - although i always had trouble doing just that. making funny/inappropriate comments always seemed more important than taking notes or listening to the lesson being given - i guess that was me being true to myself. but nonetheless, i was set on doing things right. and in order. 

but in order according to whom? 

when i met yann, i discovered someone who was carefree. not in a selfish way as he's probably the most selfless person i've ever met in my life but in a very healthy, "i am who i am" kind of way. he opened up my eyes to what "being yourself" really meant. he made no excuses. he was funny. charming. smart. sweet. he was thoughtful (he brought me a birthday gift when i was just the barista serving him his morning coffee!). caring. giving. he was an animal-lover (he would literally take breaks from work to go walk his dogs!). a movie buff. a vegetarian. a music lover. an artist. as loyal of a friend as they come. he just did what he wanted to do and i admired that. the more i got to know him, the more i wanted to spend time with him. just be around him. he had this aura about him. 

when i met yann, i fell in love with a person. not an idea. not a dream. not an image. he was, right down to the last detail, exactly what i didn't even know i was looking for all this time. there it was, in this cute little, inked, french package: the man of my dreams. the love of my life. he made me stop caring about all those details. he made me realize that life is about what you're doing and living in that moment. not what may or may not happen in 5 years. not what people thought. just how i felt. what i wanted. and what made me happy.

on october 7, 2010 (too much) wine finally gave us the courage to do what we had both secretly wanted to do for months. i may of been inebriated beyond recollection, but i do remember when he first held me in his arms. i remember that feeling that hollywood sells in about every single love movie. that feeling that the earth had stopped turning. cars have stopped moving. people have stopped walking. all that existed in that moment was me and him. we didn't even kiss. we didn't need to. we got out of the taxi and just stood there. smiling. i mustered the courage to tell him he should come sleep over... yeah, it escalated that quickly. we just cuddled (seriously!) all night. laughed like school children. and kissed. we finally kissed. my heart felt like it was going to explode. i didn't even go to school the next day. i can't believe i'm going to 'fess up to this but... i actually called his client and pretended to be is secretary and called in sick for him (horrible, i know but all worth it - she ended up getting another appointment in the weeks that followed, don't worry!!) we just laid there. all day. talking. smiling. kissing. not wanting to let each other go.


for those of you that are (extremely) good with calucations, i got pregnant about a month and a half later. suddenly, i no longer thought i had to finish school (don't worry, i did!). i no longer thought i needed a steady full-time job. that we needed to wait another 4 years and 10 months. or that we needed a house an a white picket fence. or that he had to propose (which oddly enough, he had done a few days before). all that mattered in that moment, on december 24th, 2010 when he walked out of the bathroom with that positive pregnancy test, was that we loved each other. in a way i never even thought humanly possible. all that mattered was that we were so committed to each other, that we knew we'd make things work. all that mattered was the mutual respect we had for each other. i didn't care if it was selfish. or irresponsible. i didn't care about my decision-making skills. or if i was too opinionated to raise a child. all i cared about was sharing this mind-shattering, life changing event with him. suddenly, going against the grain became our motto. we didn't care what other people thought or how things were supposed to be done. we knew how we wanted to do things. we knew how we wanted to raise this child. 

when i met yann, i was carefree, opinionated and just wanted to have fun... frankly, a child and a pregnancy later, none of that has changed and i don't ever want it to. i don't want a house with a white picket fence. i don't want to redecorate my living room every 2 years with the latest ikea fashion. i don't want to pretend to be anyone else other than who i am. and i certainyl don't need a big diamond ring. i don't make excuses. i've become a practical and responsible version of myself without losing the rebel side. i've stopped planning and started living. whatever happens, happens and we make the most of it. that's what life is about. well, atleast that's what mine is about. 

57 dels of pain.

it's been awhile. i know. and now i'm back from my little hiatus. i shot a wedding in quebec city, my fiancé was on vacation, we attended the 3-day wedding of two of our best friends, i had a maternity shoot, had some visit from france, met with clients for another wedding coming up in september, had my first blood tests and met with our new doctor to begin the follow-up with baby numéro deux. it's been quite busy and hectic around here for the past few weeks (or is it few years?!) but we've managed to keep our heads and hearts in the right places. if there's one thing i've learnt about being a parent over this past year it's that nothing is ever easy but everything is always worth it.

some moments are painful emotionally while others rate higher on the physical or psychological scale. all in all, i feel it's all part of the package deal of being a parent. some scars heal faster than others, some can be seen and others felt. for me, my biggest scar remains in my inability to fully express how much i enjoyed birthing to those around me. i feel like there is an incredible level of comprehension, listening, repsect and compassion for women who had a traumatic or difficult birth experience. on the flip side, i've found myself feeling quite lonely when speaking of my experience. sometimes, you could almost hear a pin drop. like no one wanted to keep talking about it. and yet, it seems ok to perpetuate this horrible image of birth. almost like those who had an amazing birth should keep from talking it out of respect for those who didn't have such an amazing experience... and frankly, i'm annoyed. 

don't get me wrong, every birth story, every mother becoming a mother is a sacred event in any woman's life. every story and experience should be cherished and shared. but not just the bad ones. what about those women who have orgasmic births? or those women who birth in 15 minutes flat, from beginning to end? what about other women, like me, who enjoyed the rite of passage that was the pain in birth? why can't there be more talk about that and less talk of c-sections, 40-hour labors and forceps? why is it that i feel bad and cut back on details when speaking to a woman who's had a traumatic birth? why is it that most of what i hear is women telling other women how horrible birthing is, how painful it is, how a man could never withstand that type of pain, how birthing is the equivalent to every bone in your body breaking, how you might as well just get the epidural right away cause there's no way you'll endure it... come on,really?! what's the point? to further condition people into being scared? to convince mothers to get epidurals faster? to get fathers on edge before even entering the hospital? i don't think i ever will understand this ever-growing culture where women - strong, positive role model-material women - become horrifid infants at the thought of birthing. which mind you, is the most empowering, feminine, loving, selfless and powerful thing i've ever done. 

we are doing to ourselves what doctors did to women years ago when they tried shoving midwifery aside to bring birthing into hospitals and away from the safe haven that is your home: they scared the living daylights out of women and managed to convince them to let go all of their ability to take a decision on their own and to birth on their own. people speak of epidurals like they were some sort of magic drug that allowed you to have your child faster. quicker. easier. but who ever said birth was supposed to fast, quick and easy? your birth will be as good as you let it be. if you let it be. if you have faith in yourself instead of someone else. let the pain overcome you, let it come back and know that every time you feel a painful contraction, it's just your child getting that much closer to you.  

i'm sorry but i don't respect my mother MORE because she painfully gave birth to me. i respect her because she gave birth to me. period. she carried me for 9 months (and then some...sorry mom for those extra 11 days), she birthed me naturally, she breastfed me (sorry about that, too!), she raised me, she taught me pretty much everything i know, she encouraged me and rooted me on through thick and thin, she's loved me unconditionally since the day she first laid eyes on me... for these reasons i'm forever grateful. hearing her birth story has brought me closer to her, has given me an insight as to what type of person she really is outside of being my mother and helped shape my opinion on how i wanted my own birth to happen. i didn't need that story to see her as a superhero. she already was just that in my eyes.  

my grandmother gave birth to a breeched baby. her first child. 36-hour long labour. in the woods. in a trailer. alone, with no family around. all my grandfather was allowed to do, was stand outside and smoke cigarette after cigarette - listening to his wife scream. i've heard this story time and time again. and if i were to list a list of 1000 reasons why i love, cherish and respect my grandmother, i don't even think this story would come up. 

and for as long as i've lived (ok, it really hasn't been that long but it just sounds good when i say it like that) i've never heard either my grandmother or my mother hang either story over the head of their respective children. i've never heard them tell their stories with a frown or with frustration. so what makes us need to do so? what's changed from then until now? what pushes people to say things like, "you know a man could never survive that type of pain?!". honestly, who cares? what does that have anything to do with... well, anything really. it's silly and childish and frankly, quite pointless. 

oddly enough, i thought writing this would make me feel better. that it would take a weight off my shoulders and that this was the perfect place to let loose and unleash my deepest thoughts and feelings - yet, as i'm writing this, i'm already imagining some of you curse at your screen. please, know and understand this: i respect everyone's story. i might not understand what some of you have been through but i think the same can be said about me. or anyone else for that matter. everyone has their own story. their personal experience. their vision. and that's fair. what i feel isn't fair is tainting someone's experience before they even got to live it themselves. what isn't fair is making birth out to seem like some bad dream that you need to be sedated for. what isn't fair is making it seem like we are superior beings and only we could ever survive such an ordeal... yet not doing it ourselves. what isn't fair is making a choice before even knowing what birth will be like. what isn't fair is becoming a slave to the medical community and relinquishing all ability to make decisions for ourselves and for our child.


birth is a voyage on which both you and your child will embark on together. it will make you an entirely different person and embellish the person you already were all at once. birth brings people together and shows us the true meaning of unconditional love. it brings out the best - and worst in us. embrace it. enjoy it. relish in it. love it. respect it. believe in yourself. in your body. in your child. accept the pain. it's a tiny price to pay to fully experience a miracle first hand. and remember: if you're sedated but your child isn't, didn't you guys just two take different roads, one bumpy and the other not to so much, to meeting each other? that really doesn't seem fair.