The same can be said for birth stories.
'Went into labour ... blah blah blah ... had baby' definitely skims over the surface but essentially that's how it goes down for most people (with the exception of my friend who recently had her baby on the living room floor, delivered at short-notice by her rather surprised husband).
In a bid to generate some variety in my life, nature conspired to produce a great work and birth story in one when I had my first baby two and a half years ago. With three weeks to go before D-Day, I considered myself well able to canter all over Te Mata Peak with a 20kg camera bag and a bride and groom at heel.
What I wasn't able to do though, it seemed, was shoot the staid and slow family photo lineups later, when right after 'bride with mother' and before 'bride with father', my waters broke.
Professional as always, I finished the shoot and snuck off to hospital, grateful for a winter baby that meant at least I was wearing leggings.
After such a close call, I was careful to ensure there would be no repeats second time around. No weddings were scheduled for last December and I was on desk-duty only in a bid to cross the finish line on due-date, just before Christmas.
On Monday morning, December 6th, I had one final but very important task: to hand over the reins to my 2IC, Andrew, and explain how to run the business while I was on maternity leave. It suited me to ignore the vaguely irritating pains building down below from 9am.
As I sped-read through my how-to manual, I knew only one thing to be true that morning: I couldn't go have a baby until Andrew knew how to be me.
Some people measure office collegiality by how long they stay for Friday night drinks. My small crew? Well, I discovered it was how long they were prepared to sit by my side as labour progressed.
Already well adjusted to sitting between two females in a very female-dominated industry, Andrew took this new workplace development in his usual stride, patiently pausing for 30-second intervals every 15 minutes or so while I grimaced beside him at the edit desk.
Not a father himself and always up for new experiences, he observed that this was probably the closest he would get to his own birth story, so I should feel free to continue my explanations of edit styles in between the contractions, which Michelle (on my other side) was helpfully timing while editing her own wedding.
But in the race between Eva Bradley Photography vs. Mother Nature, Mother Nature eventually won.
At 1pm after a rapid-fire delivery of last-minute operating instructions to my team, I hoofed it to hospital with my husband and later (unfortunately, much later), little James took up residence in the world.
All up, just another day at the coal face. Though one I'm quite happy to say will never, ever, ever (ever, ever) be repeated.
