Picture Chicken

I dread the process of getting good photos. I went to Sears this year, as it would save me about $500, and the photos are about the same, in my opinion. Erik heard me say, "Do you want your picture taken?" but interpreted the last two words as "picture chicken," so that is what he kept repeating all morning. As it turned out, he ended up being a little chicken. Because of his fears of any sounds the camera and lights might make, his anxiety ramped up to a new level, and it was difficult for three of us to convince him to lower his hands down from being clamped over his ears. It was even more difficult than last year, and I felt my heart sink as his face turned cherry red and he began to cry, refusing to comply with any of our instructions. As usual, though, the young things working in the studio captured almost every fleeting smile on his lips. They even shot photos of him covering his ears, working with what they could get. An added bonus was that the door was left open, and the room was a pleasant temperature first thing in the morning. That meant that even though I crawled around over the filthy floor attempting to make Erik smile, there was no river of back sweat being channeled down my butt crack this year.

At the end of the session, I felt like ripping my hair out by the roots and sobbing. When I was allowed to view the end result, though, I rediscovered how beautiful my baby is to me. My heart actually skipped a beat.