A lesson about photography I learned from my daughter's birth (WARNING: gory image)

I haven't posted anything in a long time, but I have a good excuse. Last month I had the privilege of welcoming yet another woman into my life. My youngest baby girl was born on the morning of November 10 and my now eldest daughter and I were there for the whole thing. The entire experience has been amazing although everything has obviously taken a second seat, including my blog. The lack of sleep since she was born is killing me, but it's worth every moment.

Now, I don't usually write about this kind of thing here as I try to keep it all somehow related to photography (or at least topics someone other than my immediate family would care about). But something really clicked through the process that I feel I need to share, and it is related to photography. Bear with me while I get to the point.

It all started a couple of months ago at the doctor's office when I asked him if I could not only be there in the operating room during the surgery, but bring in my camera and take photographs of the process. He graciously said yes and suggested that my eldest be there also (she's 19, btw) to witness the birth. From that moment on my brain, as is likely the case with many photographers, kept going over possible scenarios and photographic opportunities, which cameras and lenses to use, would I need the speedlights, and so on. I'm pretty sure the doctor was thinking about a little point-and-shoot when he said cameras were ok and not on the bunch of gear I dragged in! I ended up using a DSLR with a zoom lens and a speedlight with a modifyer attached which looked pretty serious in the operating room. I also gave my point-and-shoot to my daughter as a backup, so we were pretty well covered.

I won't go into the details, but I ended up putting the camera in burst mode, pre-focused, and just shot away without even looking into the viewfinder. Once there I just had to see it and the camera felt like a barrier between me and what was happening. I'd never felt this before. I don't know how to describe it, but it was an amazing feeling. Anyway, a few days later at home I downloaded all the photographs and realised that I'd ended up with over 600 shots, one of them below. I put together a time-lapse video of the birth that I've shared with family and friends. I won't put it here as it is a bit gory (even more than the photograph below).

So, my point is this. The more I look at those photographs the more I realise they will probably be amongst the most important images I ever make. Not because they have any commercial value (they don't). Not because they're technically perfect (far from it). Not because they're works of art. But because they're a record of one of the most important moments of my life. These are the photographs that I'll cherish when I'm old.

You see, as photographers we tend to obsess over gear and f-stops and shutter speeds. We're always after the latest lighting gizmo or that illusive tutorial that'll show us how to make great images. We spend hours in post trying to pefect our photographs. And we shoot everything except what's truly important to us.

Why is it that we never seem to have time to photograph our loved ones, yet somehow find the time to go out for hours to do street photography or travel far away for a landscape or organise a shoot with a model?

Deep inside I've always known that a photograph of my daughter is more important than a print in a gallery or a book. But why then do I spend so much time working on the latter and neglect the former?

When I'm old, the only photographs I'll regret will be the ones I didn't take of my family and friends. And I don't plan on having any regrets.

UPDATE: I'd written December instead of November!