Alison and Frank had both worked a full day when they showed up to Central Park at 5:30 on the dot — Alison nine months pregnant, somehow having squeezed in the perfect blowout, stunning in a white dress. Frank, dapper as ever in a three piece suit, completely in awe of his wife. Not a hair out of place — well, Frank doesn't have any, but you get the idea.

Alison had been referred to me by a good friend, and from the moment we started our session it felt like we had known each other for years. We covered a lot of ground that evening — both literally and conversationally. Bethesda Terrace, Bow Bridge, Cherry Hill — and somewhere in between, a long conversation about home renovations that we were both deep in the middle of. They warned me that nothing ever goes according to plan. (They were right.)

Central Park was totally showing off that evening. Lush and deeply green, Spring completely in full effect, the iconic San Remo rising up behind so many frames in that unmistakably NYC way. And through all of it, Alison — waddling gracefully and laughing about it — was radiant. Frank never once stopped looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.