I had Jackson's Easter/15-months portrait made today. God Almighty.
I had anticipated that getting Jackson to sit still for a portrait might be a bit daunting. I can't get him to sit still for a diaper change, so I figured getting him to sit for a portrait would be tricky. I had no idea. The only thing I can really liken it to is running a 10k while trying to teach Calculus to a cat. I am physically and emotionally exhausted.
My first mistake was going alone. If I do ever decide to take Jackson to a portrait studio again, I will be accompanied by no less than 5 other adults, and possibly an air-traffic controller.
The actual PHOTO SHOOT wasn't the worst part. Yes, Jackson ran around like a meerkat on PCP, but I'm kind of accustomed to that.
While we were waiting our turn, Jackson spazzed out and made a bee-line for the escalator, which was just outside the studio. When I caught him and tried to pull him back, he threw himself on the floor and rolled around like he was on fire, thereby completely wrinkling his Easter suit, which I had just ironed. For those of you who know me, I don't iron. The Pope could come to my house, and I'd be wearing something wrinkled. By the time I got him off the floor, he looked like a crazed Garbage Pail Kid.
But the hardest part was when they loaded the photos and I had to sit down and pick the one I wanted. I'm trying to look through 10 billion shots, all of which are heart-breakingly adorable, while my son flies around the studio, ripping USB cables out of computers and trying to jam things in electrical sockets. My blood pressure shot through the roof. Fortunately, God took pity on me.
There was a little 4-year-old girl who was there with her mother and siblings having THEIR Easter pictures done, and while she waited patiently on her mother, she saw my plight and came over and played with Jackson while I finished choosing my shots. I don't know who this little girl was, but I'm half tempted to track her down and send her a pony.
Then came the fun part.
The people that run these portrait studios are trained in sales tactics that have been devised by Satan himself. They lure you into their studios with these mail-out coupons advertising a portrait package for 10 bucks, but once they have you in there, they start pushing you to buy these insane packages that cost as much as Jackson's college tuition.
Reading between the lines, this is the sales pitch:
"Well, first you have our Platinum Package, which gives you blah blah blah, and it's $390. Since you love your child, this is obviously the package you're going to get. Then there's our Gold Package blah blah blah, it's $300, then the Silver Package, blah blah blah it's $250, and then there's our crappy Bronze Package, and it's $200, but that's only for people that hate their kids."
I'm sitting there staring at these packages like a dog listening to a high-pitched sound. I love my son tremendously, but I don't feel the need to plaster a portrait of his angelic face the size of my living room on my wall. My purpose in getting his picture made was to have an 8x10 for David and me, some 5x7s for the grandparents, and a bunch of wallet shots to foist on friends.
So they offer you these crazy photo packages that only a certified Narcissist would buy, and it's up to you to bring up the $10 mail-out package that sucked you in. I felt like a complete jerk saying, "Uhhh... can I just order a few photo sheets? Because I really had that $400 earmarked for my mortgage."
To make a long story short, I managed to escape from the portrait studio for less than $50, but the guilt-trip they laid on me will probably take a few grand in therapy to correct, so I'm not sure I made the most fiscally savvy decision.
But we survived. And I have some adorable pictures of Jackson to show for it.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
Baby #2
Okay, everybody just relax (especially you, Mom and Sami). I'm talking about second babies in GENERAL, not MY second baby. To my knowledge, I'm not pregnant, though God does seem to have a sense of humor where I'm concerned, so I'm not ruling anything out.
It's been a long time since I've posted. So long, in fact, that I actually forgot my password. Alas, I've been busy doing things that most people might actually call "productive", so the blog has taken a back seat. My garage looks great, though.
Anyway.
I'm not sure what it is about a woman struggling to keep up with a toddler that makes everyone on the planet speculate about when the next round of progeny will be making his or her debut. But for some reason, everyone, from the nurse in my doctor's office to the woman behind me in the checkout line at the grocery store, wants to know when the next Little Goodman will be here. I guess something about a frazzled-looking woman trying to keep a kid from running into traffic or constantly repeating "No, no, Sweetie! Please don't touch that!" like a hook from a Britney Spears song just screams, "Hey, you know what she needs? More of those."
Regardless, that's pretty much how it goes. Apparently once you have one, you're contractually obligated to have another.
I'm just going to go ahead and say it: I'm not entirely sure I want more. That's kind of a taboo thing to say, because it makes people assume that 1) you must not really like your first kid, otherwise you'd be dying to make more and/or 2) you are selfish for intentionally depriving your child of the joy of siblings.
It would be easiest for me to say that I'm hesitant to have more because of what I went through to get #1 here. After having a horrible pregnancy, almost dying twice in childbirth, and then having PPD, I think I've earned the right to have just one. And while the thought of going through all that AGAIN gives me nightmares, (no really, it does give me nightmares), my main concern is this: babies scare the living hell out of me.
It's no shock to anyone who has read this blog that I'm kind of ambivalent toward babies. Yeah, they're really cute and snuggly. (Although "cute" is kind of relative, because if we're all really honest with ourselves, newborns look a lot like blind mole rats.) But they're just so incredibly needy and helpless.
I've gotten to a point where I LOVE being a Mom. I've loved my son ferociously since the moment he was born, but I didn't really have fun with him for a while. It takes a special kind of person to really enjoy a baby, and I guess I'm just not one of them. But now that Jackson is a toddler, I'm having an absolute blast with him. He's like a little miniature HUMAN now.
The way I see it, babies are almost like a different species. They eat different food, they're nocturnal (or at least they seem to be when you're on your 4th feeding of the night), and they can't do anything we really associate with being human (walking upright, talking, watching 30 Rock, etc.) They breathe through lungs, but that's where the similarities end.
Oh, and they're incredibly aloof. They don't care that you're "Mommy" and that you love them with every fiber of your being and would lay down your life for them without a single thought. No, that really doesn't register. You could be Mommy or the Queen of England and they wouldn't care, so long as you're warm and willing to shove food in their mouths.
But then, gradually, they start doing things that we do. They begin eating solid foods. They laugh. (Granted their little senses of humor are a bit primitive, but that's okay.) They start using their opposable thumbs. And best of all, they love you.
I have to say, having a toddler is the greatest thing in the entire world. He's a bit more difficult to take in public, but that's a small price to pay. He plays with blocks and cars. He plays catch with me (okay, so his aim is a bit off most of the time...) He runs around the house terrorizing the animals. And no matter what he's doing, he has to take a break every 15 minutes to run over to me for a hug.
In short, I'm so happy right now that I'm not sure I want to start all over again.
I'm assuming at some point I'll be bitten by what some people refer to as "The Baby Bug", which is essentially nature's way of making sure that even cynics like me pass on our DNA to more than one offspring. I guess our species needs pessimists, too.
But until that time, I'm going to enjoy the little miniature person my son has become.
It's been a long time since I've posted. So long, in fact, that I actually forgot my password. Alas, I've been busy doing things that most people might actually call "productive", so the blog has taken a back seat. My garage looks great, though.
Anyway.
I'm not sure what it is about a woman struggling to keep up with a toddler that makes everyone on the planet speculate about when the next round of progeny will be making his or her debut. But for some reason, everyone, from the nurse in my doctor's office to the woman behind me in the checkout line at the grocery store, wants to know when the next Little Goodman will be here. I guess something about a frazzled-looking woman trying to keep a kid from running into traffic or constantly repeating "No, no, Sweetie! Please don't touch that!" like a hook from a Britney Spears song just screams, "Hey, you know what she needs? More of those."
Regardless, that's pretty much how it goes. Apparently once you have one, you're contractually obligated to have another.
I'm just going to go ahead and say it: I'm not entirely sure I want more. That's kind of a taboo thing to say, because it makes people assume that 1) you must not really like your first kid, otherwise you'd be dying to make more and/or 2) you are selfish for intentionally depriving your child of the joy of siblings.
It would be easiest for me to say that I'm hesitant to have more because of what I went through to get #1 here. After having a horrible pregnancy, almost dying twice in childbirth, and then having PPD, I think I've earned the right to have just one. And while the thought of going through all that AGAIN gives me nightmares, (no really, it does give me nightmares), my main concern is this: babies scare the living hell out of me.
It's no shock to anyone who has read this blog that I'm kind of ambivalent toward babies. Yeah, they're really cute and snuggly. (Although "cute" is kind of relative, because if we're all really honest with ourselves, newborns look a lot like blind mole rats.) But they're just so incredibly needy and helpless.
I've gotten to a point where I LOVE being a Mom. I've loved my son ferociously since the moment he was born, but I didn't really have fun with him for a while. It takes a special kind of person to really enjoy a baby, and I guess I'm just not one of them. But now that Jackson is a toddler, I'm having an absolute blast with him. He's like a little miniature HUMAN now.
The way I see it, babies are almost like a different species. They eat different food, they're nocturnal (or at least they seem to be when you're on your 4th feeding of the night), and they can't do anything we really associate with being human (walking upright, talking, watching 30 Rock, etc.) They breathe through lungs, but that's where the similarities end.
Oh, and they're incredibly aloof. They don't care that you're "Mommy" and that you love them with every fiber of your being and would lay down your life for them without a single thought. No, that really doesn't register. You could be Mommy or the Queen of England and they wouldn't care, so long as you're warm and willing to shove food in their mouths.
But then, gradually, they start doing things that we do. They begin eating solid foods. They laugh. (Granted their little senses of humor are a bit primitive, but that's okay.) They start using their opposable thumbs. And best of all, they love you.
I have to say, having a toddler is the greatest thing in the entire world. He's a bit more difficult to take in public, but that's a small price to pay. He plays with blocks and cars. He plays catch with me (okay, so his aim is a bit off most of the time...) He runs around the house terrorizing the animals. And no matter what he's doing, he has to take a break every 15 minutes to run over to me for a hug.
In short, I'm so happy right now that I'm not sure I want to start all over again.
I'm assuming at some point I'll be bitten by what some people refer to as "The Baby Bug", which is essentially nature's way of making sure that even cynics like me pass on our DNA to more than one offspring. I guess our species needs pessimists, too.
But until that time, I'm going to enjoy the little miniature person my son has become.
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