When I was a teenager, my younger stepsister had a thing for babies. She probably still does, I haven’t asked her. But she loooooooooved babies. Wanted a baby, talked about babies, loved to babysit, couldn’t wait to have babies… and she love love loved those Anne Geddes photographs and calendars depicting babies in a daisy, curled up like a ladybug and other uber-precious scenarios.

I’ve got to confess that they creeped me then and they creep me even more now with the deluge of maternity/newborn photographers that have surged the internet in the last 5 years.  The digital camera has made everyone Anne Geddes and for me, they might as well all have become clowns. *shudder*

I mean no disrespect to any friends or online acquaintances who have taken up this profession, it’s not personal. It’s a sweeping, across-the-board cringe at that genre of photography, a fire that Pinterest has done an excellent job of stoking lately.

I’m only speaking for me, but cramming your baby in a teacup and suspending them in a sparkly meshbag from the ceiling is not adorable, it’s grotesque. If you found a similar photo in a creepy dude’s basement, you’d be calling the FBI not framing it over the fireplace. It makes me think of kittens in jars or fetal pigs in formaldehyde. It’s practically… gothic.

And while we’re on the subject, I could also do without all the glistening pregnant torsoes floating on black backdrops. And little hearts around belly buttons with parental hands. And the sexy ones, mom in grayscale, lusciously prone on a chaise, a yard of shocking pink chiffon covering her naked bits.  And the piece de resistance, the topless pregnant couple, dad’s hands covering mom’s breasts, both floating in a sea of black,  often headless, soft focus midsections captured for posterity and the inevitable future “ew” from their unborn child.

No child, even when they’re 40, is going to look back at those photos and think, “Aw, that’s me in there.” their heart swelling so much they book a cruise to celebrate their parent’s love. They’re going to think, “That’s dad holding mom’s boobs”, followed by 50 minutes with their therapist.

I don’t knock the talent of these photographers, technically, many of these photos are lovely — it’s about the subject matter, not the talent. And, I also realize that demand dictates supply, so if you get a sea of parents asking for photos of husbands kneeling and worshipping at their wives baby bumps, then by god, that’s the kind of photo you’ll take. It may not be art, but it pays the bills and I totally respect that. It’s not like I’m making “art” with every website I design.

It’s just a personal preference. It’s not for me. And I’m grateful that Kathy never made a papier mache cast of her pregnant belly, bedazzled it and displayed it in her living room because then I’d have to mock her about it until we we’re 80 and that takes a lot of work.