While I've only been a mom for five months now, I'm fully aware that part of my job as a parent includes building up my son's illusions until they're slowly destroyed by some punk kid with rotten parents who tells him on the bus that Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny all live in the same house… and look exactly like his parents. I will remember that kid. And I'll be there siphoning the gas out of his tank on the way to the prom. But I digress.
I can honestly say that I'm not sure I really ever remember going to see Santa as a kid. I'm sure we did, I'm sure we must have, and there has to be a picture somewhere of one time or another, but I really don't remember it. And while my son probably won't either, I'm pretty sure we have the cutest "Baby's First Visit With Santa" picture in existence (no offense to any other moms out there who think theirs is better. I'm just saying you're wrong.)
The weekend before Thanksgiving, I checked the mall's website to make sure the jolly ol' guy would be there -- one thing I do remember as a kid was that that giant purple chair outside Sears and below the escalator at the Crystal Mall seemed like it was set up and ready right around Halloween. As it turns out this year, Santa wasn't visiting eastern Connecticut until mid-November. Thanks recession.
We debated taking him, as it's flu season, freezing cold and we don't know how he's going to be at any given point. But at the same time, we really wanted that photo. We could taste that photo. (And the ridiculous amount of money we'd have to pay to get it.)
We went early for two reasons -- one, we knew we wanted the picture for our Christmas card, which we'd have to order in advance, and two, because we wanted to beat the crowds. We figured there couldn't be that many crazy (or really, really smart?) people out as early as us. As it turns out, we were right.
We went to the mall and got right in line -- second only behind four kids dressed identically and their parents. As the argyle quartet jumped in Santa's lap for their photo op, we got the little guy out of his stroller. I was kind of nervous, but we thought of it this way -- we can HOPE he takes a good picture. He might, he might not. If he does, it'll be a great card. If he doesn't, and he goes batshit bananas, well, that'll be a cute Christmas card too. It's honest. It's cute. It's truthful. And everyone knows, you should never lie to kids. Unless it's about an elderly overeater (potentially diabetic) in a red velvet suit breaking and entering their house to leave them presents made by a bunch of little people in pointy shoes at a place too cold for anything to live. You lie about that.
As the family in front of us moved away to look at their pictures and pay, we moved in for the kill.
Santa asked us, "Who's this little guy?" and we told him Johnny, and he's four months old (my husband also felt compelled to tell him that it was the baby's first Christmas. It's okay, honey. The man delivers presents to MILLIONS/BILLIONS of people per night… he can do the math). We handed the baby to Santa, and he didn't cry at all. We took that as a good sign, but still stood next to him just in case he panicked while we waited for the other family to be done. See honey? Santa's not scary at all. He's magical!
My husband then turns and asks, "Hey Santa, do you guys take debit?"
I didn't have words. I wanted to laugh and at the same time wanted to ask what the hell was wrong with him. I gave him the look that all wives give their husbands when a question like this one is asked, and he said, "WHAT?? IF ANYONE'S GOING TO KNOW, SANTA WILL!" You're right, sweetheart. You got me there.
As it turned out, the baby did just fine. Didn't cry one bit. (I can't say the same for us, as we had to fork out $19.95 for two 5x7s [that would have cost me $1.29 total at CVS] and $9.99 for the copyright of the photo. Yes, you heard me right. We needed the copyright to be able to put a picture of OUR child on our Christmas card. Grumble grumble hiring a private Santa next year grumble grumble.) He sat on his knee and looked up at Santa with awe. Every time I look at the picture, I can't help but think Johnny's thinking, "So YOU'RE Santa…"
But it was odd for John and I, being in the parent roles. We were the ones standing below the camera acting like morons hoping the baby might look at us and smile (he didn't). We were the ones trying to quiet him down after we took him back from Santa (he didn't). We were the ones who ended up taking him to Build-a-Bear hoping his new fuzzy friend that "he" built, Mr. Wigglesworth, would cheer him up (he did). It was just odd. Not bad, just different. We actually walked away from Santa in a bit of a daze -- as if to say, did that just happen?
We still feel like we are kids. We still feel too young to have a baby. Not in a bad way -- not in a "where's the nearest 'safe zone' drop off place for him" kind of way. Just in a "still can't believe this is real" kind of way. The same way we felt our first night after bringing the little guy home from the hospital. We knew what we had to do, but "this doesn't seem like it could be happening."
So in the car on the way home, I just sat and thought. Wow, I still can't believe I'm a mom. I have this awesome little tiny mini-me and I still can't believe he's real and not just some thumping bump in my sweater. I looked over at John, and asked to get his perspective on being a parent versus the kid standing next to Santa.
"It made me sad," he said. Me too, I thought. "It made me sad because that Santa said he only took that job because he has too much credit card debt."
I turned and looked at him again. Wait, what?
"I know it's not the real one," he said. "But I want to think Santa takes care of those guys."
And now I present to you the CUTEST BABY'S FIRST PICTURE WITH SANTA OF ALL TIME:
