Oh hi, I’m Miranda!

A passionate photographer chasing simplicity + sunlight here in the East Valley of Arizona.

...And These are Real Things

...And These are Real Things

Well, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

And to say it gets even better…

Yet I still hear the “oh but it gets worse” and “just wait ‘til baby Cronin is a teenager” from others in between my bouts of unpredictable nausea. Honestly, if I hear that one more time, I will politely or not-so politely tell that person to zip it. Or just puke on them. Depends on how short my string is the pregnancy gods have gifted me that day.

I’m growing a human being and if that is not admired as one of the most biological extraordinary acts a woman can do, then the door is just yonder.

On the evening of discovery, two happy, little lines appeared, a joyful phone call to mom was dialed, a sleepy husband that replied with “is this real?”, and Levi the cat darting down the hallway after he overheard another human would be living with him.

A week later, oven cooked tater tots and frozen mango bites became a typical entrée of mine. One lunch hour I even ordered a rice krispie treat and a pickle. A strange combination that grows even stranger when 3 am calls and I am reaching for ice as a twilight snack. Or pilfering Daniel’s cinnamon roll that he saved for himself. I have no say in this sorcery.

When we saw our little tiny’s heartbeat during the first ultrasound at 7 weeks, I witnessed the most magical transition in my husband’s eyes. He initially went from being told he was going to be a dad by seeing parallel lines on a stick, to witnessing a full on, brand new human being just pumping away.
His human being. Ours. One we made together.

At 12 weeks, we heard that beautiful, steady rhythm of the heartbeat.

Now I remember how it feels like to fly.

We discuss names over Daniel’s coffee, nursery themes via text message, and delivery dreams during our car rides to work. We vouch for a boy, both grandmas vouch for a girl. (Grandmas normally win). Our conversations are certainly a subject shift from the usual “maybe Hawaii over Christmas this year?”, “I think I left my soul on the paper tray in my cubicle” or “my Amazon package did not arrive yesterday!”

Sooner or later, diapers will be found as recent purchases on our receipts, a bassinet will glide its way into the home, and Levi will be required to surrender his title as an only child.

For those concerned over the questionably abandoned soul on my paper tray, I found it again.

It came back to me.

In the form of a baby.