There's a conversation I have at the start of almost every family photography session, and it goes like this.

"I should warn you, my child will never sit still."

Or: "She's going to be a nightmare today, I'm so sorry."

Or, from a parent of three: "Good luck."

I love hearing it. Not because I don't believe them, but because it tells me they've never had photos taken by someone who waits for the little moments with children.

Children don't know how to fake it

Adults have a camera face. You've seen yours in the mirror. It's the smile that turns up when a lens points at you, and it is not the smile your family sees across the dinner table.

Children don't have one. Or if they do, they haven't worked out how to hold it for more than a few seconds.

That's the whole reason I do this. A four-year-old cannot perform happiness on command for forty minutes. They can only be happy, and then the photo is real, and then it's gone again. My job is noticing the window.

You cannot force a genuine smile out of a small child. You can only build the conditions where one turns up on its own.

That's what I love about natural family photography. I'm not trying to make your children look like someone else's family. I'm trying to capture who they actually are.

"My child will never sit still" is my favourite sentence

Here's what I mean by that.

A still child is usually a nervous child. If your toddler is sitting neatly on a rug, staring down the lens, waiting for instructions, something has gone sideways. Either they're bored, or they've picked up that you're worried about this, or they've been told to be good and they're trying very hard to be.

None of those are photographs I want.

A running child is a much better subject. Running means they've relaxed. Relaxed means they've stopped thinking about me, which means the real version of them is sitting on the surface where I can reach it.

So when you tell me your child won't sit still, what I actually hear is: this is going to be a good session.

That's why toddler photography works so much better when we let toddlers be toddlers. They don't need to sit still for beautiful family photos.

What changes at every age

Children aren't one subject. Photographing a baby and photographing an eight-year-old need completely different approaches.

Under one. They can't do much, and that's the point. The photos are about being held, being impossibly small, and the way you look at them. Almost none of it depends on them doing anything at all.

Sitting, before they can walk. This is the sweet spot, and I say it with affection. They can hold themselves up, they're fascinated by everything, and they cannot yet leave. Nothing is being performed.

Toddlers. Fast, loud, unreasonable, brilliant. Sessions with toddlers are mobile, and I plan for that. We go where they go. If they want to run laps, we run laps, and I'm there when they turn around.

Three to five. The age of enormous feelings and unexpected honesty. They'll tell me things. They'll decide we're friends or we're not. If we are, they'll follow me around like I'm the most interesting person alive, and those are some of my favourite photos to take.

School age. They've worked out what a camera is by now, which means they've also worked out that they can hide from it. These sessions are quieter and need more patience. I don't push. I wait, and eventually curiosity wins.

Older kids and teenagers. Genuinely self-conscious, and they care how they look in a way small children don't. I work differently with them. Less chasing, more conversation, and I don't make a fuss when the good photo happens, because making a fuss ruins it.

This is one of the reasons I love being a family photographer in the Hills District. Every family is different, and every child needs something slightly different from me.

Girl with pigtails and arms outstretched plays among floating soap bubbles in a grassy field at sunset at Rouse Hill Regional Park.
Smiling woman in glasses crouches with open arms as two children run toward her across a grassy path at sunset in Rouse Hill Regional Park.
Two children in white shirts hold hands and play on a picnic blanket in a golden grass field at sunset at Rouse Hill Regional Park.
A mother and daughter in white tops and jeans share an affectionate moment, touching foreheads in a sunlit grassy field in Rouse Hill.
Happy family of four playing on a sandy beach as two children run toward their smiling parents with arms outstretched near calm water.
A woman in a white dress, a man in a white shirt and a young girl in a pink skirt run barefoot along a sandy beach in Sydney.
A father in a white linen shirt holds his young son in striped clothes while standing on a sandy beach with hillside homes behind them.
Young child in a striped sweater and jeans runs barefoot along the sandy shoreline with arms outstretched as gentle waves roll in.
Mother in a white dress sits on a bright white bed, cradling her baby on her lap in a calm, minimalist bedroom during Motherhood session.
Black and white photo of a woman in a white dress kneeling beside a bed in a bedroom, lovingly hugging a toddler during Motherhood session.
Toddler in a white t-shirt and jeans sits in a cream foam ball pit, holding two beige balls up to his face while playing.

Siblings are their own thing

Photographing two children together is nothing like photographing one child twice.

They have an entire relationship that has nothing to do with you, and it's usually visible within about ten minutes. The one who looks after the little one without being asked. The two who argue constantly and then hold hands walking back to the car. The baby who lights up the moment their sister comes near.

I don't try to manage any of that. I let it run and photograph what it produces.

And yes, some of the best frames involve somebody crying. Or somebody flatly refusing to look at anyone. Those are usually the ones that end up framed, because they're the truth of that particular year.

That's what I'm looking for during family sessions. Not perfect behaviour, but the little pieces of their personalities that you'll want to remember.

The photos you'll love aren't the ones you planned

Every parent arrives with a picture in their head. Everyone looking at the camera. Everyone smiling at once. Everyone in the same frame.

Sometimes we get it, and it's lovely, and it goes on the wall.

But the ones that make people cry are almost never that photo. They're the seconds either side of it. Your son wrapped around your leg, hiding. Your daughter mid-sentence, hands going everywhere, telling me about something that happened at school. The two of them collapsing into each other on the grass.

I'll always take the lined-up photo if that's what you want. But I'm really aiming for the twenty minutes around it.

Those are the natural family photos that tell you what this particular season actually felt like.

What I need from you

Not much.

Don't apologise for your child. Nothing they do during a session is a problem, and everything they do is an opportunity for me to capture who they are right now.

Try not to tell them in advance that they have to be on their best behaviour. A child who's been warned will arrive already worried, and worried children are stiff children.

Feed them first, and keep the day normal. No big build-up, no threats, no promises of a reward for smiling.

Then hand them over and let yourself relax. I've got this.

Why I'll always photograph children

Because they haven't learned to perform yet. What you see is what's actually happening, which is rarer in a photograph than it should be.

Because they say things that make you laugh until you cry.

And because they will not be this small for long. Not even next year.

If you're looking for a family photographer in Sydney's Hills District, I'd love to help you with your memories.