Three Years ago today, my son’s grandmother slipped into spirit world after a long battle with breast cancer. I never knew Carol. She became what the Universe is made of before her son and I met, before her grandson was born. I have heard hundreds of stories from my beloved Alok about Grandma Carol...

She stood barefoot with a fresh pedicure showing blood-red toenails on the white paper backdrop in my downtown, air-conditioned Tucson studio. She lifted her loose blouse over her head with shaky hands, tears welling in her honey colored eyes. She was petrified. Not only had she never shown a stranger her most vulnerable secrets that her clothing effortlessly hides, she had never been photographed nude.

Today, equal parts excited and nervous, I photographed my first post-birth mother for my project ‘A Beautiful Body’. It was perfect that this project began with her, really. She is fiercely beautiful and as tender as a newborn baby. You would never know that under the thin layer of clothing that covers her body, she has the most gorgeous collection of stripes on her stomach and breasts in the formation of a sun from some undiscovered universe. Elsewhere her skin is taught, bronzed and firm. The tender place that she rarely exposes to anyone and remains protectively covered, like a woman beneath a burka or a mermaid under the sea, was silently revealed to me. It was right then I realized that I have in fact finally redefined my definition of beauty. Never have I seen anything more sexy than this body with is authentic story that has birthed and fed 2 perfect children. I couldn’t help but daydream a little into the future, wondering what it will be like to explore hundreds of images like the ones I took today while reading each woman’s story about her relationship to her post-birth body. It’s the medicine of being vulnerable and real that begs to be labeled ‘beautiful.’ It’s time, isn’t it?

I am scared to share these photographs and writings with you. If asked why, I may be tempted to nonchalantly say I have no idea. Except that would be a lie. Deep down, I know why: Because I am a rebel with a cause. Because I want to say fuck you to our society’s view on a woman’s body. Because I don’t want to be a photographer who only shows work of thin “perfect”-looking women. Because it’s my belief that a body with curves and butt-dimples which has just given birth to another human should also be praised and seen as beautiful.

These are my first thoughts put to paper with a beautifully-perfect 7-pound-and-some-ounces baby attached to me, sucking at my breast. As I sleepily search for words to write to accompany the photographs I took last week when the entire family was in town to meet Sequoia, my sweet 11 day old son, I can not help but pause frequently and stare at the perfection feeding from my body’s milk. Every little sound makes my heart melt. Every movement a source of pride to my soul. Every inhale and exhale a source of peace for me. I feel so beyond blessed.

It’s nearly time to part ways now. The honor of facilitating the making of a human body in my own body is nearly over. This belly will never be this exact belly ever again. My Son will never again receive nourishment from his umbilical cord. I will never feel him slowly stretch and move against the inside of my abdominal wall as if her were dancing a sacred warrior dance. These last days are the end of his fascinating and rhythmic hiccups inside of my own being, like an intimate drum beat only I will ever know and which makes me so very proud. I will never again feel for his head to see if it is still pointing down. I will never share this body in this way, ever again, with this human. Now we prepare to become 2.

My life as I know it is about to change: forever. In about 4 weeks, most likely under the guidance & protection of the full moon of February 7th and surrounded by my own tribe, I will give birth to my son.

It’s scientifically proven that happiness makes the human heart grow younger. Happiness is the abundant side effect of being interconnected with those in our life that inspire us and to those we had no idea we could possibly love. Happiness is the practice of forgiving those who have “harmed” us so we may be free from our suffering. Happiness is practicing to gently embrace those who do not agree with our personal and authentic message.