G9 P2

G is the number of gestational pregnancies a woman has had.

P is the number of live births.

My mother’s number is G9 P2.

Culturally, we have been fed a steady diet of misinformation and myth: glowy, contented women dripping in warmth. Being handed a chubby, crying baby in the delivery room is a marketing device designed to keep women subjugated.

It is a boot on our necks.

Not every life begins at conception. Some of those conceptions die or threaten the life of the mother. Everybody knows it, nobody talks about it.

This work is anti-commercial. Sheltered within non moments, these pictures are the valley of the shadow of death which only high-risk fetal medicine doctors understand. In spite of being pregnant, women still need to go on with their day-to-day. Life continues even with that threat of menace at every turn.  

Some women have to navigate co-morbidities which further complicate pregnancies. Conditions which prevent pregnant people from taking life-saving medications which put life at risk.  These pictures reflect in-between. Non-moments which swirl around pregnancy.

I flaunt the un-comfortability, risk and banality in equal measure. G9 P2 is the reality of being pregnant. These are possibilities pregnant people fear the most. Nobody wants to almost be a mother. You could die, your baby could die. A baby in a stroller is cute, because it’s done. I’ve seen people almost die during pregnancy. Even now, politicians want to keep people pregnant even if at mortal risk. It is barbaric. It puts the woman in full responsibility for something radically out of her control, it is boot on our necks.

The work is not political but, sadly, the subject is. Maternity is isolating because men can’t admit women are more than a womb and women can’t admit they’re afraid they may die. These are the most vulnerable and terrifying moments any pregnant people  experience. I pack my gear and head into these homes attempting to make sense of it all. Making a bottle for the other toddler, taking work calls. The marriages range from rock-solid to falling apart.

The non-carrying parent, when applicable, sometimes factor in to the frame, remaining on the fringes.

This further reflects that a woman’s job is to keep the ship afloat while pregnant. No matter what. Pregnancy, I’ve noticed, creates a lot of avoidance. It is intolerable and isolating yet no one seems to admit it. Shame isn’t a great vibe for art. Voyeurism is where people are often most comfortable. Instead, I am inserting myself into a parallel universe to seek out answers.

However, I often glean uncertainty, shame, fear and doubt. It is rare that I feel a home system is fully supportive of how scary this process is. Such is the journey of photography, to leave us with more questions than answers.