Get In The Photo. Your Children Don't Care How You Look.

I have almost no photographs of myself with my own children.

It's a strange thing to admit, for someone whose whole life is photography. I have thousands of images of other people's families — but when I go looking for pictures of me with mine, there's almost nothing. I was always the one behind the camera. Always the one saying "one more" to everyone else, never stepping in front to be part of it myself.

My children have told me this makes them sad. And they're right to feel that way. One day, a photograph of me — however I looked that day, whatever I was wearing, whether my hair was done — will be the only version of me they have left to hold onto.

I understand this from the other direction too. My own grandmother, and her mother before her, died before I had the chance to know them properly. What I have of them is a handful of old photographs my parents kept — creased, faded, some barely in focus. I am endlessly grateful those photographs exist at all. They're not just images. They're the only proof I have that these women were real, that I come from somewhere, that a whole life happened before mine did.

This is why, on almost every family session I photograph, I try to talk someone into the frame who doesn't want to be there.

It's nearly always a woman. A mother, a grandmother. "Not today," she'll say. "I look tired." "I haven't done my hair." "Just get the kids — I'll be in the next one." I understand this instinct completely — I've felt it myself, plenty of times, on the other side of my own camera. There's something deeply uncomfortable about being looked at when you don't feel your best.

But here's what I've learned, watching hundreds of families over eighteen years: the children don't see any of that. They don't notice the wrinkles you're worried about, or the concealer you didn't have time to apply, or the ten pounds you wish weren't there. None of it registers to them. What they see is their mother. Their grandmother. The person whose face they love more than any other face in the world, exactly as she is.

So I keep asking. Gently, but I keep asking. And almost every time, when someone finally steps in — reluctantly, still a little unsure — something shifts in the room. I've watched a grandmother go from arms crossed at the edge of the garden to laughing in the middle of a pile of grandchildren within a few minutes. I've watched mothers who spent the whole session directing everyone else finally sit down and let themselves be photographed too, and cry a little when they saw the images afterwards.

That photograph — the one that almost didn't happen — is very often the one a family tells me they love most.

If you're a mother, a grandmother, the one who always takes the pictures and never appears in them: I'd love to help change that, even just once. Not a perfectly posed, everyone-looking-at-the-camera kind of photograph, necessarily — just a real one, of your family, with you actually in it. Your children won't remember how you looked that day. They'll just be grateful you were there.

my family portrait sessions →

If this is the year you finally get in the photo — whether it's a full family session, or just you and your children, or three generations together — I'd love to talk it through. You can see how my sessions work and what's included here →

Why I Photograph Families At Home Instead of Studios

People sometimes ask me why I photograph so many families at home instead of in a studio.

The honest answer is:
because real life happens at home.

Not in front of a perfect paper backdrop.
Not under giant softboxes.
Not in matching beige outfits carefully prepared for Instagram.

At home, children behave differently.

Parents behave differently too.

A toddler hides behind the kitchen chair.
Someone jumps on the bed.
The baby needs feeding halfway through.
The dog walks into the room.
There are cups of tea somewhere in the background.
Laundry on a chair.
Tiny socks on the floor.
Afternoon light moving slowly across the walls.

And somehow all of that feels far more real to me than perfection ever could.

Maybe this comes from having five children myself.

I know what family life actually looks like.

I know that most mothers arrive at newborn sessions already exhausted before the session even starts.
I know that packing a newborn, spare clothes, bottles, muslins, snacks, nappies, and trying to leave the house on time can feel like preparing for an international expedition.

Sometimes mothers apologise to me for the “mess” at home.

And honestly?
I almost never notice it.

Because years later, nobody looks at family photographs and thinks:
“What a shame about that pile of laundry.”

What people actually see is:
the tiny expression their child used to make,
the way the light looked in their first home,
the chair where they fed the baby every night,
the feeling of that season of life.

That is what disappears.

And maybe that is what family photography is really trying to save.

Not perfection.

Just evidence that this little life happened.

That everybody was here.

That this was once your ordinary day — before it quietly became a memory.

What to Wear for Newborn Photos

A gentle guide for your at-home session

One of the first questions I'm asked, once a session is booked, is always the same: what should we wear?

It's a lovely question to be asked, because it means you're already thinking about the photographs the way I do — as something you'll keep. So let me take the worry out of it.

After eighteen years and more than a thousand newborns, here's the honest truth: the simpler you keep it, the more the photographs will feel like you. Babies change so quickly, and these images are about them — their tiny hands, the curl of their feet, the way they fit into your arms. Everything you wear is just a quiet frame around that.

For the baby

For the classic posed parts of the session, your baby will often be wrapped, or photographed bare, with the softest blankets and wraps. I bring a full newborn wardrobe with me — organic wraps, gowns, bonnets, headbands and small props — all in calm, neutral tones that suit my style. So you don't need to buy anything at all.

If there's a special outfit you'd love to include — a christening gown, something knitted by a grandmother, a little something passed down — bring it. Those pieces often become the most meaningful images of the day.

For you and your partner

Think soft, simple, and tonal. The aim is to look like yourselves on a good morning, not dressed up for an occasion.

A few things that always photograph beautifully:

• Soft, muted colours — creams, oatmeal, warm greys, dusty blues, gentle earth tones. These sit quietly against the skin and let your baby be the focus.

• Solid colours over busy patterns — large logos, slogans and bold prints pull the eye away from your little one.

• Comfortable fabrics you can move in — there's a lot of holding, swaying and gentle rocking during a session. You want to be able to forget what you're wearing.

• Layers and longer sleeves — newborn sessions are warm (I keep the room cosy for the baby), but soft long sleeves photograph beautifully and feel relaxed.

And for skin-to-skin images, which are some of my favourites — a simple neutral top that slips off the shoulder, or simply being comfortable bare-shouldered, makes for the tenderest photographs of all.

For older siblings

If big brothers or sisters are joining, keep them in the same soft palette as you — it pulls the whole family together in the frame. But don't fight them into anything stiff or scratchy. A comfortable child is a happy child, and a happy child gives you the real photographs. Soft cottons, simple colours, bare feet. That's all.

A few gentle reminders

• Lay everything out the night before, so the morning is calm.

• Bring a spare top for yourself — newborns are wonderfully unpredictable, and you'll be glad of it.

• Don't worry about being "ready." You won't be photographed in a way that asks you to perform. We work quietly, slowly, around your baby's rhythm.

The most important thing

Please don't lose sleep over this. The families whose photographs they love most aren't the ones who got the outfits perfectly right — they're the ones who relaxed, held their baby, and let the day be what it was.

You'll be holding someone very new and very small. That's all the photographs really need.

Thinking about newborn photography for your little one? I'd love to hear from you. You can see the full collections on my investment page, or simply get in touch — I'm always happy to answer questions, whatever stage you're at.