Nine months. Well, technically 37 weeks and 3 days. That’s how long I was given to navigate the roller coaster of symptoms and emotions I experienced while growing our son. I had so much time to ponder how we’d share him with the world, because in today’s age… if it’s not on social media, it doesn’t exist. Right? 

Similar to the phrase, “If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” …I found myself questioning if our excitement and joy for this new little life inside of me were equally as valid if I didn’t shout it from the metaphorical rooftops of every digital platform in existence.  

As a small business owner, I’ve always prided myself on being fully transparent and authentic with my followers— both friends and complete strangers alike. I find the curated highlight reel of social media to be downright exhausting, and have fought like heck to not fall victim to creating a fake persona or brand that isn’t an accurate representation of who I am or what I believe. 

I think that’s what made sharing my pregnancy feel so impossible— something that should’ve been a source of extreme joy and hopeful expectation was depleting me mentally, emotionally, and physically in ways I couldn’t put into words. 

The first trimester started exactly the same as my last pregnancy. Extreme nausea, all day everyday, to the point I couldn’t even drink water to stay hydrated if I wanted to. Foods that could be consumed one hour would have me gagging the next. And as the day progressed, I only felt worse. (I’m not sure who dubbed it “morning sickness” but they obviously weren’t afforded the divine experience of having symptoms that didn’t discriminate the time of day) I would wake up every morning questioning if I had what it would take to make it through, and fall asleep at night snuggled up next to a bucket, attempting to lay perfectly still with a mint in my mouth… praying I could fall asleep before I felt the need to vomit. 

I cried more times than I can count, merely out of frustration and utter defeat, completely convinced I didn’t have what it would take to survive another 30+ weeks on the seemingly never-ending carousel of miscellaneous, hormone-driven symptoms. I was hopeful that maybe, just maybe, this time would be completely different. But just as my luck would have it, the chaos wouldn’t simply stop after 12-14 weeks. The symptoms would slightly subside, just in time for new ones to surface. And little did I know, this would happen for the entirety of my pregnancy until the moment I gave birth. 

The days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. I kept patiently waiting to feel good *enough* to simply take a photograph with my husband and daughter that could suffice to fulfill my obligatory pregnancy announcement post online. But that time just… never came. We’d obviously shared the news with our family and friends, my upcoming wedding couples, session clients, and people we’d bump into in person. As we survived the day to day, my desire & need to create a facade on the internet that portrayed a life of pure pregnancy bliss dwindled smaller and smaller.

It’s a lost art for so many— the ability to keep anything private. We have been conditioned to believe that life cannot be lived unless all the most beautiful parts are intricately shared and glamorized for the public eye. I started to realize that so much of my happiness was driven by the instant gratification of sharing it with others. And not to say that’s always a bad thing; I genuinely believe there is so much beauty in doing life together. But when your joy is rooted in the reaction and opinion of perfect strangers on the internet… some serious heart work is definitely in order. 

We found out the gender of our baby just after my 20 week anatomy scan, at a photo session with my sweet friend, Abbey. It was just the three of us: Collins, Jesse + I! We decided to have Jesse open the envelope from our sonographer, whisper the gender to Collins, and then Collins would tell me. The world’s shortest game of “telephone,” if you will. Abbey photographed the entire sequence & we even video taped our reaction, too. I swear I’ve rewatched it 473 times, because both Jesse and I were CONVINCED we were having another girl. The moment was so sweet and personal for our family… & we ultimately decided, once again, to selfishly hoard it all to ourselves. 

Around 24 weeks, we discovered I was blessed with a rare condition called “supine hypotensive syndrome” for a second time. It affects only 6% of pregnancies, and I had now experienced it in both of mine. Essentially, my uterus put pressure on my inferior vena cava vein while laying or sitting in certain positions, which then restricted blood flow to my lower extremities and placenta. For me, it was usually triggered while I was sitting upright, making even the simplest tasks like driving in the car or sitting in a chair exceptionally difficult. (Both major necessities when you’re a photographer, traveling to sessions/weddings and working at a computer daily) If you want to see a full list of all the issues this syndrome causes— do a quick Google search… it’s downright awful, to say the least.

As you can imagine, this diagnosis was all-consuming and pretty debilitating most days. I struggled to do my job effectively and felt like so much of my independence was ripped away from me. My friends, husband, and mom had to tag along to almost every session, wedding, or doctor’s appointment outside of a 15 min radius. I couldn’t sit upright to answer emails or edit photos unless I was sitting on a yoga ball. And even that was hit or miss. Carrying or even holding my toddler in my lap became next to impossible. I spent most of my time laying horizontally on the couch or in bed, and genuinely felt like the worst mom in the world for letting Disney+, Meekah, and Ms. Rachel parent my child most days. But it was all about survival at this point. 

The anxiety I felt wondering if I would make it through wedding days was enough to swallow me whole. I’d spend the entire week on the couch, barely able to function, pushing fluids and trying to rest as much as I could. I’d then show up to a wedding and run on adrenaline for 10-14 hours straight. It was by the grace of God alone that I made it through my entire season without fainting or needing to bring in an associate to cover for me. 

I had my fair share of pity parties and felt really bad for myself. I was so torn between wanting to share our pregnancy just to feel understood and heard by the world… while also not wanting to seem inept at my job. I explained to my midwife at around 28 weeks that I was just wildly uncomfortable. To the point it didn’t feel right. I was contracting constantly, yet inconsistently, all day everyday. And every time I did anything remotely strenuous, the contractions only increased. I was told this was all “normal” with second/subsequent pregnancies, and basically that I just needed to push through. 

Fast forward to my 36 week growth scan. This was the first sono I’d had since the halfway mark, so we were excited to see his sweet face and get an idea of how big he was measuring. What was supposed to be a routine check-in turned into an absolute whirlwind for the next ten days. Our baby was measuring large for gestational age, and to add insult to injury, I was carrying extra amniotic fluid. (I’m not talking about a little extra, either. While normal pregnant women have approximately 1 liter of fluid surrounding their baby, mine was swimming in about 3 liters.) My fundal height was already measuring 40 weeks, and my care team finally validated every reason I was feeling so out of whack for two months straight. 

We didn’t know what was causing the extra fluid, but they feared we may have missed gestational diabetes developing after my initial glucose test. So between my 36 & 37 week appointments, while hanging in the balance of complete unknown, I then had to test my blood sugar 4X a day to see if I was diabetic after all. In short, we quickly determined that I wasn’t.

To say I was very over being pregnant may be the understatement of the century.

I was so anxious about our baby’s well being that I wasn’t sleeping. I was up 5-6 times throughout the night to pee and would lie awake worrying about what was happening inside my own body. From the outside looking in, he was perfectly healthy: strong heartbeat, constant fetal movement, clear scans of his kidneys, heart, brain and spinal cord. Things simply were not adding up, and the benefits of staying pregnant any longer felt minimal in comparison to getting him here as safely and soon as possible. 

At our 37 week appointment, we found out that my amniotic fluid had only increased (to now OVER a gallon) and my midwife pushed for immediate induction. We were scheduled to deliver the very next day, and despite being a little nervous about enduring Pitocin for the first time… I was so ready to meet our guy and ensure his safety. 

I could talk through every detail of our induction, but to be honest… it was a little uneventful. Jesse and I were shocked by how relaxed the entire process was. They kept upping my pit and waiting for me to wave the flag of defeat to bring in the anesthesiologist for my epidural. (I am not an unmedicated birth kinda girly— the epidural was my only birth plan request) But funny enough, we discovered that my body had been desensitized to the pain of contractions because I’d casually been living through them for weeks already. So once I was 5 cm dilated, we just opted to get the epidural so they could break my water and get this show on the road. 

It wasn’t until I couldn’t feel my abdomen that I realized just how much pain I’d been suffering through. The relief literally brought tears to my eyes, because for the first time in MONTHS I wasn’t experiencing some form of discomfort or pain. I felt like a completely different human and the light at the end of this long, excruciating tunnel was visible for the first time. 

They broke my water, I took an absolutely dreamy epidural nap, and within an hour I felt pressure that woke me up & immediately indicated it was time to push. Eight minutes and five contractions later, our Jennings McKay entered the world. 

Looking back on our journey through this pregnancy in particular, it continues to make me insanely emotional. (Could be the postpartum hormones, but I’m pretty confident I will always feel this way) I am so grateful, and proud, of our family and support system that helped us through. 

From the day we found out about Jennings’ existence, my husband stepped up and seamlessly filled in the gaps within our home that I could no longer occupy. He held me as I cried in defeat and supported me through every obstacle imaginable. 

Our daughter, while only being two years old, showed me more grace, love, and empathy than I could have ever fathomed possible. Not once did she complain about mommy being too sick to play outside. We missed out on countless things because of my health. But instead of feeling sad, Collins looked at every sick day as an opportunity to capitalize on snuggle sessions. She’d constantly ask “Mama, are you still sick?” And I’d reply with “Sadly, yes. I will be until baby brother gets here.” And she never met that response with an ounce of resentment or anger. Only empathy and understanding. On the days I felt like I was failing, she was the sweetest reminder of how worth it these babies truly are. 

I quite literally never would have survived this season of life without my mom. In the first trimester, she’d come over and get Collins out of bed and feed her breakfast when I physically didn’t have the energy to do so. She’d take her to the store for hours on end so I could rest. She cleared her schedule to make sure she could come to every doctor’s appointment with me, just so I wouldn’t have to drive alone. For a few of my final weddings that were out of town, she insisted on coming along to take care of me, ensuring I could still serve my couples well. More than ever, I’ve realized that every ounce of love, compassion and selflessness I exude to others pales in comparison to who I was raised by. She is genuinely my hero, and I only dream of having a heart as selfless, kind, and giving as hers. 

I could go on and on about our village and the ways they’ve continued to show up for us. Growing these babies produced some of the darkest, ugliest days of my existence; the most grueling cumulative 18 months I’ve ever endured. But amidst all of that hardship, I’ve never been more grateful to not have to do life alone. 

I’ve learned to ask for help, which was quite honestly my least favorite lesson in the world has a hyper-independent control freak. I was reminded that extremes of every emotion can, and do, coexist. You can be ridiculously miserable and simultaneously grateful at the same time— & there’s nothing shameful about that. And finally, amidst countless other things, I came to appreciate the sanctity of living life more present in the moment, searching for genuine joy where you can find it, and learning to be at peace with not being understood by the world around you. No words ever felt like they could fully articulate  everything I was feeling and going through, so eventually I just stopped trying to find them. 

I have been questioned so many times about why I was “being so secretive” about our growing family, and I really want to end with a final disclaimer:

No part of my heart EVER desired or intended to keep our baby a secret.

In fact, if I met anyone I knew in passing, I couldn’t wait to share my excitement with them. (Granted, my statements about hating pregnancy but loving the end result were pretty abundant) But nonetheless, I loved experiencing every organic reaction when I’d tell someone new. When I hit the “showing” phases of pregnancy, it became borderline comical to see people’s eyes widen and their gaze shift to my protruding stomach. The utter confusion when someone realizes they’ve missed a huge chapter in your story is priceless. And I don’t think my husband or I will ever regret the decisions we made that led us to experience that over and over again.  

It’s officially been two weeks since we welcomed Jennings into our lives, and we’ve been soaking up every bit of this newborn bubble while we can. His nursery still isn’t finished, and I swear we order new things on Amazon that we forgot almost daily… but it’s definitely been a time of joy and celebration after what felt like never ending chaos. (And for everyone wondering, yes, my pregnancy symptoms have quite literally evaporated into thin air) I feel light as a feather & borderline superhuman right now.

So while it may have taken me months to get here, I am absolutely giddy to finally share Jennings and all his sweetness with the world. Just like his big sister, he is the purest testament to God’s faithfulness and goodness in our lives. A deep reminder of Romans 8:18- that even our deepest suffering can never compare to the joy that’s coming. 

This past weekend while eating breakfast one morning together, Collins looked over at me and said: “Mommy, I’m so glad baby brother is here now.” 

Me too, sis. Me too. 

Thank you to my amazing friend, Abbey Lynn Photography, for documenting every chapter of this story for us. She respected our decision to keep this pregnancy private and celebrated every single milestone alongside us. We are so grateful for her talent, love, and incredible gift of photographing our family so beautifully.