Picture Perfect
Well, I finally joined the legions of other mothers before me, those exhausted and hollow-eyed people that are blindly carrying around a bag of clothes and a hairbrush... I took the Peanut to get his pictures professionally taken.
Let me tell you, this was a bigger deal than his actual birth. I had to make no less than THREE trips back and forth to the photo place. It was hot, there were kids screaming, the Peanut fell into an exhausted sleep on my shoulder... it was like another dimension.
The first time we went, a V!E!R!Y! cheerful man took us back into a hot, hot room filled with fabrics and bedraggled toys and bright lights. He instructed me to undress the Peanut and place him in a basket, with a blue ribbon covering his bits. I tried not to think of how many other kids had placed their bare bottom where I was now resting my son. The Peanut tried to eat the ribbon. He squinted in surprise at the pop of the camera. He had absolutely no interest in any of the dumb toys the cheerful employee tried to wave in front of his face. He let his picture be taken a few more times, and then fell asleep in the basket. Done for the day.
We were told that we didn't have to make an appointment for the next time, since we were just continuing the session. Of course, when we got there, with the Peanut decked out in his finest Christmas sweater, there were four million people, who actually HAD appointments, and they all were taken back before us. After three hours in his hot and uncomfortable sweater, smack in the middle of nap time, the Peanut screamed bloody murder when we finally set him down on a mock sled to take some pictures. He did not appreciate the squeaky toy that they were waving at him, he was having none of sitting by himself, and just wanted his mom to take him away from all of these insane people and bright lights. Needless to say, there were no pictures taken on this trip.
I dragged us back for the final time, putting the Peanut back into a sweater that was now a little worse for the wear. We lost a shoe in the parking lot, and I barked at the man who was now just irritatingly happy, "Just take the pictures, I don't care if he has a shoe on or not!" We got a couple of pictures of the Peanut looking highly pissed off about all of the proceedings, and then I got to pick through the wreckage and decide what to spend ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FUCKING DOLLARS on to complete my picture experience.
I don't have the pictures back yet, and I don't even care if they look good. I will be displaying those suckers until he has children of his own.
Six month pictures, anyone?
Let me tell you, this was a bigger deal than his actual birth. I had to make no less than THREE trips back and forth to the photo place. It was hot, there were kids screaming, the Peanut fell into an exhausted sleep on my shoulder... it was like another dimension.
The first time we went, a V!E!R!Y! cheerful man took us back into a hot, hot room filled with fabrics and bedraggled toys and bright lights. He instructed me to undress the Peanut and place him in a basket, with a blue ribbon covering his bits. I tried not to think of how many other kids had placed their bare bottom where I was now resting my son. The Peanut tried to eat the ribbon. He squinted in surprise at the pop of the camera. He had absolutely no interest in any of the dumb toys the cheerful employee tried to wave in front of his face. He let his picture be taken a few more times, and then fell asleep in the basket. Done for the day.
We were told that we didn't have to make an appointment for the next time, since we were just continuing the session. Of course, when we got there, with the Peanut decked out in his finest Christmas sweater, there were four million people, who actually HAD appointments, and they all were taken back before us. After three hours in his hot and uncomfortable sweater, smack in the middle of nap time, the Peanut screamed bloody murder when we finally set him down on a mock sled to take some pictures. He did not appreciate the squeaky toy that they were waving at him, he was having none of sitting by himself, and just wanted his mom to take him away from all of these insane people and bright lights. Needless to say, there were no pictures taken on this trip.
I dragged us back for the final time, putting the Peanut back into a sweater that was now a little worse for the wear. We lost a shoe in the parking lot, and I barked at the man who was now just irritatingly happy, "Just take the pictures, I don't care if he has a shoe on or not!" We got a couple of pictures of the Peanut looking highly pissed off about all of the proceedings, and then I got to pick through the wreckage and decide what to spend ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FUCKING DOLLARS on to complete my picture experience.
I don't have the pictures back yet, and I don't even care if they look good. I will be displaying those suckers until he has children of his own.
Six month pictures, anyone?
posted by D. @ 10:29 AM
1 Comments:
At 1:45 PM,
BabyonBored said…
This is why I refuse to ever do professional pictures. Elby would wear leg warmers and swim goggles ONLY if she had her way and never seems to do well at posing. But you are a stronger woman than I. Thanks for all your comments!
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