A photographic nightmare

It ... was ... HORRIBLE.

No, no, that's just too nice of a word. How about horrific. Appalling. Dreadful. Atrocious. With a ghastly cherry on top of this horrendous sundae. I'm talking about Grace's portrait session on Saturday, an event in which I entered with low expectations. Clearly they were not low enough. Not by a mile.When events like this occur, I am completely convinced of the T in the Christian Reformed theological "TULIP" anagram -- total depravity.

The afternoon started out great. Grace had a terrific nap, she was in good spirits, she looked cuter than ever in her blue floral dress, her short bobbed hair shining like auburn silk. A true baby model in the making. Ha -- try "diva" ...

The portrait studio was incredibly crowded -- not a good way to start. I filled out the form and we had to wait. Thankfully it wasn't too long, but Grace stuck in her stroller is never a pleasant time. She started to squirm, and her whining gradually increased in volume. Uh oh ... Finally our name was called and we went into the little room. Grace was very interested in her surroundings: good. We put her up on the platform/table thing and she instantly started posing: great. She laid on her belly, chin in her hands, the most cherubic smile and big bright eyes all set to go: awesome.

Now enter the photographer. A very cheerful young woman who either truly likes children or actually hates them but is a good actor. She got her stuff ready, then walked over to Grace and told her it was time to sit up, all the while attempting to manipulate her little limbs to sit "ladylike." Grace didn't quite protest, but she looked at her like she was an idiot. Alarms started to going off in my head. Grace, though, was indulgent -- the first shot (the one we ordered) is as sweet as can be: head tilted to the side, a sweet almost coy smile lighting up her face, legs neatly tucked under her dress. Truly picture-perfect. The next couple of shots, too, were equally cute -- however, the smile was slowly disappearing.

Finally Grace had enough of sitting -- she wanted to lay on her belly. "No, no, no!" said the photographer. "Just one more sitting and then you can lay down, all right?" Ummmm ... what? Do you realize you are talking to a two year old? She's done, lady -- let her do it her way and just snap the pictures. She picked her up and plopped her down on her bottom (rather roughly); Grace's eyes began to darken with warning: "Watch out, lady. Just keep it up ..." Her methods of bribery didn't work either, and that's what really started the meltdown. "Do you want the teddy bear? OK, fine -- but you have to sit nicely for me first." That was it -- Grace is not a dog that will sit for treats. She gave one fierce look at that photographer, and we were in full tantrum mode. Don and I looked at each other and said, "That's it - time to go home."

The amazing part of this is that out of the mere five pictures that were snapped, four of them were truly adorable. The smile clearly faded from picture to picture, but even her more serious head shots were beautiful. However, the nightmare continued ... as I stood by the screen, viewing the pictures and holding Grace, my girl wanted out of that place in the worst way. She wriggled, she screamed, and finally she gave me a loaded look and hauled back and slapped me right in the face. Yes, in a room full of people, all watching this interaction. I believe this is one of those moments that parents truly dread: how in the world do you react? What do you do? (Friends and parents of two year olds, especially ones that slap: what would you do? This is new territory for me. She also started biting, but that's another story.) You were just slapped by a two year old (a motion which was repeated, I might add, a minute later). In my mortified state, I managed to hold her hands tightly and say, "No!" quite sternly (this is what prompted the second slapping). Unbelievable. I was at such a loss at that point that I just handed her off to Don and he whisked the kids away. I believe my face was as red as the proverbial beet. I could hear her screaming all the way down the hall. I really don't blame her completely; she was truly miserable. Little ones have at most a five minute window where they will cooperate, where their attention is focused. After that, they're done. But this experience pushed her way beyond that window; she didn't understand it, she hated it, and she didn't know how to express it (other than the means she resorted to). I get that. But still ... I looked around at all the little quiet cherubs who witnessed the event and wished for a deep, dark hole.

Like I said, the photograph choice was actually quite difficult since all the pictures were wall-worthy. I ended up selecting the first one where she is sitting quite ladylike -- her moment of indulgence -- a supremely sweet smile on her lovely face. Maybe I chose that in order to fool myself at how horrific the event really was. She doesn't look like a demon-child, right? Ah, my girl ... such an independent spirit that is so tricky to shape and mold. Thank goodness for photography -- what would we have done two centuries ago, having had to sit for a painter? I pity that artist with my girl as the subject ... What a spit-fire.