(Featuring a toddler, a tennis ball, and the newest way I capture family stories.)

…And there I was, watching my son collapse into tears on the floor (you know the way their legs just stop working when they cry) because he thought I was being unreasonable. 

He wanted to throw tennis balls at the TV. Me? I said no. The world had ended, at least in his two-year-old mind.

The second he turned two, he turned TWO. Not because he’s “terrible”—far from it—it’s just that big feelings come packed into his tiny little body, and sometimes they explode in the most dramatic ways. 

(Sound familiar?)

It’s wild how these tiny humans carry storms inside them—intense emotions that can sweep through a room faster than you can say, “deep breath, my love.” 

They’re learning so much all at once: how to express themselves, where boundaries lie, and what it means to feel all the feelings. And us grown-ups? We’re just trying to provide space for it, stay calm, and sometimes—let’s be honest—laugh quietly when the meltdown feels both hilarious than heartbreaking.

It makes me wonder when we stopped doing that—feeling our feelings so fully, without shame or second-guessing. I’m not saying we should collapse on the floor every time the coffee shop runs out of cinnamon rolls, but there’s something honest about the way toddlers let it all out. Somewhere along the way, we learned to swallow our anger, brush off our disappointment, and downplay our joy so we don’t come off as “too much.” 

But what if we gave ourselves just a little more permission to be fully human? To acknowledge what we’re feeling without judging it, to sit with the hard stuff without rushing to fix it, and to celebrate the good without muting it? 

Maybe the real lesson from these tiny tornadoes we’re raising is this: feeling deeply isn’t weakness—it’s a kind of wisdom.

What I’ve realized is this: These moments—big feelings, messes, and all—are exactly what make this phase of life so unforgettable. They’re raw, they’re real, and they deserve to be remembered just like that.

There is so much power in simply feeling something deeply. Not fixing it, not filtering it—just letting it be real. That’s part of why I started offering film as an add-on to sessions. 

There’s something about it that feels a little more raw, a little less polished, and a lot more like real life. The imperfect edges, the softness, the texture—it all reminds me that we don’t need perfect to make something beautiful. Film gives space for the in-between moments to breathe. The ones you’ll want to remember not because they were picture-perfect, but because they felt true.

Let’s face it: these toddler years are a whirlwind of emotion and discovery. Documenting your family exactly as you are—tennis ball meltdowns, belly laughs, and all—is what makes these memories truly priceless and something to hold onto. Both in your mind, and in your hands.

If you’d like these notes to land in your inbox instead of finding them later on the internet somewhere between your 14 open tabs, you can sign up for Sincerely, A. It’s where I share the quieter stuff — motherhood, memory, photography, things I’m noticing, things I don’t want to forget — sent every so often, like a letter from a friend. [psssst… it is also where I share session openings, product drops, and other tidbits that are worth being the first to get your hands on.]