When I first read a report about birth photography, my first reaction was simply "WTF? NO." What kind of narcissist would want a stranger in the room, clicking away on a camera as they were in the throes of labour? "Now breathe, breathe, breathe ... and POSE!" And wait – who are the people doing the photography? Former war photographers looking for a new challenge? Unemployed horror film directors, avoiding the jobcentre?
Yet according to parenting website babycentre.co.uk, it's a growing trend, with 20% of mums or pregnant women polled on the site saying that they would consider, or have already hired, a professional to take snaps at their birth.
According to Becky Williams, a professional birth photographer at TummyToToddler.co.uk, it's less invasive and, well, gory, than you might first think. "More people have realised that birth photography isn't what they had originally imagined, and the pictures created are tasteful and precious, capturing the most intimate and special moments, such as the baby's first breath or the first skin-to-skin contact between the mother and her baby."
Certainly, looking at some of the pictures on Williams's site, it seems that rather than getting down the business end, the photos are very tasteful: a mother mildly flushed, but euphoric, a smattering of light perspiration dotting her forehead; another woman in labour reclining on her hospital bed, while a kindly midwife listens to the baby's heartbeat.
All very nice, but this doesn't exactly mesh with my (admittedly, vague) memories of giving birth. If someone had taken photos of me during labour they would have come away with snaps of whey-faced exhaustion, interspersed with increasingly tortured gurning. Never mind reclining in a hospital bed, instead envision me squatting, naked and ungainly, next to a toilet bowl. And who could forget the shocking moment when my waters broke - an epic tidal wave surging out from between my thighs.
That aside, I'm not actually averse to the idea of being photographed during labour – it would just have to be a hardened documentary photographer, someone akin to Dorothea Lange or Don McCullin, because I wouldn't be posing, they'd have to catch me on the fly. There would be a rigorous interview process, a series of tests if you will, to see how they would perform in real life. Can they resist the urge to flinch when I scream in their face? Can they watch me on the loo without betraying their disgust? Does the sight of blood freak them out? For this I have in mind the story behind the "chestburster" scene in the film Alien, where Ridley Scott surprised his actors with an eruption of freshly steamed offal. Most importantly, they'd need to be able to make a good cup of tea. I'll have mine strong but milky, with one sugar (for energy), thanks.
I'm only semi-joking. I'm fascinated by the so-called miracle of birth. I honestly find it amazing that my body can grow another entire human being and then manage to squeeze it out of a tiny hole. During labour with my daughter, my husband and I were too focused on what was happening, too busy trying to cope with the fear, to take any pictures. When she emerged, I exhaustedly protested that I didn't want any photos to be taken as I felt so knackered. No one had a camera to hand anyway, so the moments where I first held her were missed. I really regret that now.
Understand that I don't necessarily want nice, pretty pictures to share on Facebook or Twitter. I don't want the black-and-white, sanitised version of birth. I want the glorious, gruesome, Technicolor version of what my body went through and what I achieved. As a marathon runner might. I want to see the pain, and also the pay-off at the end.
So next time, I'm seriously contemplating getting a photographer. A search online reveals the International Association of Professional Birth Photographers who in February held a competition to find the best birth photograph. You can see the results here. I love the one with the daughter hugging her labouring mother, and check out the People's Choice award: an image of a baby born in its caul – utterly amazing. With £850 as a starting price (on tummytotoddler.co.uk) we're not going to be able to afford to do it, but I've got time to put out feelers with my amateur-photographer friends. I wonder who will have the stomach for it?
