It all started like any other session. A sweet, sleepy baby was curled up in my arms, her tiny fingers gripping mine as I soothed her for the next pose. She had just finished his wrapped shots, and now it was time for those classic nude newborn portraits—soft, natural, timeless.
As a newborn photographer, located in Fairfield County, CT, I’ve seen it all—sleepy yawns, squishy cheeks, even the occasional pee fountain. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared me for the day I unknowingly conducted an entire photoshoot with baby poop – a lot of it – on my leggings.
I settled her onto my lap, swaying gently while making those ridiculous shushing noises that only newborn photographers and desperate parents master. I felt something warm, but honestly, when you work with babies, you assume everything warm is either a bodily fluid or a heating pad doing its job. A smidge of pee, poo, or spit up? No worries, I just wiped it off and kept going.
A few moments later, I shifted to place her on the blanket, adjusted my long tunic top, and continued the session. The baby was a dream—sleepy, cooperative, and giving me the kind of poses that would make any parent swoon. I moved around effortlessly, kneeling, crouching, and leaning in to capture all the tiny details.
It wasn’t until after the session when the parents were packing up that I glanced in the mirror.
Confused, I glanced down. My black leggings—blessedly dark, mercifully opaque—revealed nothing. But then, I saw it. A creeping, suspicious mustard-colored mass peeking out from below my tunic top.
Panic. Slow realization. A mental rewind of the last hour.
Oh.
Oh no.
It had been covering what I can only describe as a full-scale baby poop disaster. A crime scene, if you will. The baby, at some point, had delivered an unannounced, unsolicited, and undeniably large gift directly onto my lap. And thanks to the tunic’s coverage, I had gone about my business, completely oblivious.
I had walked around. I had kneeled. I had chatted with the parents. I had—dear Lord—adjusted my camera strap multiple times. I had been standing in baby poop camouflage for over an hour.
I turned to the parents, debating whether to confess or just slowly back out of the room like nothing happened. But as I caught their eye, the mom suddenly gasped.
“Oh no! Did he poop?” she asked, lifting her baby to inspect his pristine bottom.
I gave a weak smile. “Uh… yes. But, um… it was mostly on me.”
Her eyes dropped to my leggings. Then to my tunic. Then, slowly, she connected the dots.
Silence.
Then, uncontrollable laughter.
“OH MY GOSH. You mean this whole time—”
I nodded solemnly. “The whole time.”
The dad was crying. The mom was wheezing. The baby? Peacefully asleep, completely unbothered by the mess she had made of my day.
Needless to say, I now have a strict “leggings are not protective gear” policy. And a backup outfit. Always a backup outfit.
The moral of the story? If you’re a newborn photographer, assume that every warm sensation is a red flag. And always, always check your lap.
More info: jwbrownphotography.com
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