Birthday Boy

BIrthday Boy

Princeton, NJ
March 2014


The time has come!

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things…”


Tamzin and her favorite, Auntie Maureen, at our diner. This story on my new tumblr blog:

So I’m a Mom, now. As you may or may not have guessed. And it turns out that motherhood is an incredible, challenging, super-hard, super-awesome, all-consuming thing. I’ve been writing more and more about it, as you may or may not have seen. 

This blog was initially meant to complement our website,, and showcase my favorite shots of our events.

I realize I may have been straying from the original design a bit, and felt bad for all y’all who might be like, “Hey, I signed up to look at pretty photographs, not read this crap about this girl’s baby’s poop.” (Haha, crap. See what I did there?) 

So I decided to start a tumblr, here: and consolidate all my mommy musings there. 

This way, I can keep posting photos here from the parties and weddings and other events that we shoot, and I can spare everyone who doesn’t (understandably) want to know the gory details of my struggles with making purees that don’t end up on the ceiling. 

So, if you’re so inclined, pop on over to the tumblr every now and then, and check in on us. 

Also, let’s be honest. I’ll probably post one or two more pictures of my baby girl on this site, because I am more than slightly obsessed. 

Thanks for reading! Photo from our event two weekends ago in Brooklyn coming right up!



Sans Map


Having a child unfortunately doesn’t come with a roadmap. If it did, I feel it would resemble a plate of spaghetti. The beginning is almost too easy –  the little critters sleep for almost 20 hours a day, for crying out loud. Feed them, burp them, change them, bundle them up, and let them do their thing, which involves a whole lot of nothing, if you’re lucky. Your job is simple: keep the kid alive, keep yourself fed and watered.

The first few months with my daughter were a blur of tiny pink onesies, sleepless nights, endless feeding sessions in front of the entire series of Breaking Bad (and True Blood and Game of Thrones), FaceTime chats with my husband, away in San Antonio with the National Guard, and naps. So many naps. All of the naps. Endless, blissful naps.

It’s getting more complicated now. Exponentially so. And I have a feeling I have no idea what I’m in for, either. Do you know they have the term “Pre-Tween” now? When does that start exactly – next week?

Tamzin is seven whole months old now. She’s cooing and squirming around and almost sitting up by herself, eating pureed sweet potatoes and peaches and letting me know she doesn’t like the latter by clamping her mouth shut and turning her face away from the spoon. Cheeky little thing. But I like that her personality is beginning to reach its way through those cute little fat folds and toothless gums. My newborn isn’t a newborn anymore.

My daughter wants to play, to communicate; she grabs for things. She sits on the couch while I’m trying to work and gabs at me. She doesn’t ever want to sleep ever ever and sometimes wants to breastfeed all day every day, and sometimes cannot be bothered, and prefers peas. PEAS to me. She sometimes favors her father’s touch (which at once breaks my heart and puffs it up beyond measure), and she has learned during nap time how to reach her tiny fat little hand through the bars of the crib to make sure the falling binky makes maximum impact on the floor and gets our attention so we come in, replace it, soothe her, pick her up, rock her, wind up her music box, and all other things that she knows now will delay sleep for one minute longer.

She is now a tiny human. And I admit that the transition from “New Mom” to just “Mom” has been an extremely difficult one for me. I have a master’s degree, twenty years’ experience working outside the home, I’ve lived on three continents, speak multiple languages, and my daily accomplishments these days sometimes don’t even approach successfully roasting and pureeing four measely yams.


  1. roast yams
  2. puree yams
  3. open up cabinet and let huge can of green beans fall into pureed yams
  4. scrape yam puree from ceiling
  5. scrape yam puree from countertop and cabinetry
  6. scrape yam puree from baby’s eyeball
  7. feed baby minuscule amount of uncontaminated yam puree left in bowl
  8. weep

New motherhood is a warm blanket. People coddle you; you coddle your child. Casseroles are left at your door and you are showered with accolades if you actually manage to shower. Now real life has crept in: the balloons I received when she was born started to look silly on the bureau in her room, so I finally threw them away. Trips to the grocery store are made without fanfare. Diapers are changed, peas are mashed, and the dirty laundry miraculously multiplies like so many loaves and fishes in a small white basket in my baby’s room.

So I take another step down the road into more uncharted territory, our daily ebbs and flows playing out in our little world above the diner. Each day brings new challenges, new triumphs, and new, weird forays down into dark places I never even knew existed (like simultaneously feeling pride and disgust when my child finally poops after a 7-day respite but does it naked on the changing table right before my eyes).

You know the French say they have it all figured out, of course. I’d read all about that but I have a tutorial to watch about how to make a puree out of prunes.

Please pray it turns out better than the yams.

The Year of the iPhone


(iPhone photo taken at the Mummer’s Parade in Center City, Philadelphia, today)

Perhaps you read the blog post a few weeks ago about how my daughter probably thinks my iPhone is an actual extension of my body.

Since her birth, I’ve used the iPhone to track feedings, sift through forums to help decipher why my daughter’s poop is a particular color or consistency, to check the news, and to keep tabs on the outside world, from which I felt so isolated when caring for a newborn while Dave was away with the National Guard, particularly in those early days when nights were long and days were blurred. Most of all, though, I’ve used my phone to take pictures, thousands of pictures, of my darling baby girl. Some (ok, ok, a LOT) ended up on Instagram or Facebook, and others just remain on my phone. I scroll through them regularly and am constantly taken aback by how fast my little girl is growing, how quickly time is passing.

My phone allows me to connect, to learn, to revel, and reckon. I am unapologetically quite attached to it. I even bought the insurance plan.

This year, I plan on dedicating more time and effort into the art of iPhoneography. It is a way that I can more easily interate photography into a life filled with messy purees, spit up, and a baby who just wants to chew on everything. It’s a way I can work on my art, even though so much of my time now is being dedicated to raising my daughter and other general housewifery.

While this site will mostly remain a place to showcase work that my husband and I have done in our business, as well as share stories of life behind the scenes of Megan + Dave Photography, I’ll sometimes post some iPhotos here. But mostly they’ll be on my Instagram account, where I’m @meganjooste.

I hope you find me there, and give me feedback on my photography. Art is an integral part of my being- some days, when life as a housewife is almost too monotonous to bear, it’s my photography that helps me get through, helps me take stock of what a beautiful life I am blessed to be living, and soak in these sweet moments with my daughter, who continues to grow far too fast.

Me and Baby T

Me and Baby T

(My sweet girl and me at home. iPhone Selfie)