“Visiting Jenna’s studio was only our second outing as new parents. We were still finding our footing—learning how to move through the world with this tiny new human in our arms. I was hormonal, sleep-deprived, teary, and still wrestling with breastfeeding and the surreal strangeness of my postpartum body.

I was—like so many new moms—uncomfortable in my own skin.

I was hot, sweaty, still in pads (but pretending I wasn’t), and didn’t fit in any of my pregnancy clothes or any of my pre-pregnancy clothes (good Lord, not a chance—though, true masochist that I am, I tried a few things on that didn’t fit and was fully distraught afterward), hardly in the mood to go get in front of a camera.

I was officially caught in that weird moment in time where:

• I was still watching the clock to time my pain meds,
  
• Winded from moving around with a sweaty baby in my arms,
  
• And still making peace with how my whole nervous system lit up like an alarm bell every time he cried.
  

But the moment we walked into Jenna’s studio, something shifted.

Jenna welcomed us with warmth and confidence. Her studio felt like a calm, airy sanctuary—quiet, sunlit, and intimate. There was no rush, no judgment, no performative energy. She embraced us fully, mess and all, and made space for us to just be in that raw, beautiful moment of becoming parents.

She had a ribbon in her hair, her ponytail slightly off center. She wore jeans and a white t-shirt—simple, effortless, the kind of outfit that made her feel like the girl next door. A sister. A friend. Someone who wasn’t trying to outshine anyone, just quietly showing up in full presence.

She was barefoot, moving around the studio with a softness that mirrored the light streaming in through the windows. No perfume, no heavy scents—just the clean, familiar comfort of her shampoo, which I remember catching in the air and feeling oddly soothed by. Everything about her presence was grounding.

And she was truly focused on me. Not my mom. Not my dad. Not Adrian, or even Nash at times. Me.

That still brings tears to my eyes. Because in a room full of people and cameras and family excitement, I was the one unraveling and reforming in real time—and she noticed. She honored it. She made me feel like the miracle.

She made it seem completely normal that I had brought my entire family with us—both sets of grandparents wearing pastels, hoping to jump into a quick photo with the precious newborn we all loved so much.

She sang to and soothed our son like someone who knows babies deeply. She gently helped me get dressed, noticed when we needed water or reassurance, and told me—without flinching—how beautiful I looked. And I believed her. Not because I felt beautiful, but because her voice was rooted in truth. She saw something in me that I hadn’t been able to see in myself yet.

She saw the mother emerging.

There’s one moment I’ll never forget: I had just pulled my dress down to nurse Nash, awkward and unsure, still fumbling with latching and positioning, still feeling like I was “doing it wrong.” Breastfeeding didn’t feel natural to me yet—it didn’t feel like something I’d ever want documented.

But Jenna paused, looked at me, and said with complete sincerity, “You’re doing such a magical job.”
I blinked. What? I didn’t feel magical. I felt sweaty and unsure and kind of embarrassed.
Then she added, “You look like such a pro.”

She meant it. And somehow, I believed her.

The truth was—I was wrapped in a weird kind of shame. The shame of being seen as a childcare expert in my professional life, while feeling like anything but that in the raw, unfamiliar world of new motherhood. Jenna lifted that off of me. She made me feel unashamed. Like I was exactly where I needed to be, doing exactly what I needed to do.

She even asked me questions that only another mom would know to ask—genuine, thoughtful things that only parents think to care about. And in that moment, I felt not just seen—but joined. She wasn’t just a photographer in the room. She was the other mother in the room.

I knew in my heart that we wouldn’t be able to do this twice—and I really trusted that Jenna would get it right. As a photographer, I already knew she was skilled. But what truly shone through was her nursing experience, her calm confidence, and her mother earth energy as she embraced not just Nash, but me, too. She didn’t just hold space for the baby—she held space for the birth of a mother, which is a different kind of miracle altogether.

At one point, she noticed Nash’s toes were cold and quietly turned the heat up in the studio. He wasn’t an “easy sleeper,” and I remember walking in thinking I’ll be the first mom whose baby won’t sleep during newborn photos. But within minutes, Jenna had him swaddled and snoozing. I could have cried with relief. Actually—I probably did. That sort of care doesn’t show up in proofs or galleries, but I felt it deeply.

I had already rescheduled once, and then—of course—I was late. Jenna didn’t flinch. “No problem, mama,” she said, and meant it. She was patient, calm, and kind when what I needed most was grace. She’d picked me up some Starbucks and the drink was still fresh and cold (somehow my order was perfect- I don’t know who gave her my coffee order, but she nailed it).

Before we even got started, she told me her home had been germ-free and gently asked if I’d prefer she wear a mask. It was such a small gesture, but it meant everything to me—someone holding a tiny newborn, barely three weeks old, and trying to navigate the unspoken anxiety that comes with new motherhood.

She wasn’t just thinking about Nash—she was thinking about me.

The images she captured are stunning. Truly. They’re soft and luminous and full of love. But what I’ll treasure even more than the photographs is the experience of being seen and held during such a vulnerable time.

She handed me a coffee and a reassuring smile when I could hardly hand myself a break.

Jenna didn’t just document a milestone—she made space for it to feel sacred.

She helped me pause in the chaos of new motherhood and honor the moment, not just survive it. That’s not something you can package or price. That’s a gift.

I will treasure these images—and the memory of capturing them—forever.If you’re a new or expecting parent, I can’t recommend this experience enough. Whether you feel camera-ready or not (and trust me, I didn’t), Jenna has a way of reminding you that you’re already everything your baby needs—and that’s worth remembering, or at least capturing. Being a new parent is really hard. You don’t remember a lot of the first few weeks. Document all you can, when you can because looking back on these images will be precious to you one day. I wanted to make sure I shared my experience since my memory of this fresh postpartum time are so limited. Jenna was such a positive part of my memories of early motherhood, and I hope she can be part of yours, too. From one perfectionist to another, this photographer is IT.”