A Picture is Worth a Thousand (Curse) Words

No one ever said being a parent was easy. With the exception of sperm donors and essentially every celebrity with a nanny, of course. That said, people who aren't moms or dads may wonder what the most difficult parts of parenting actually are. Some of them are obvious. No sane human enjoys being woken up with a scream every 1-3 hours throughout the night. Similarly, being vomited on? Also known to dampen your spirits (not to mention your just-washed bed sheets). But there is another activity, which, when it occurs, makes you think back to the very moment of conception and how the current moment juxtaposes that in a way that makes you laugh, then weep a little. Of course, this activity is taking family pictures at [Insert Any Chain with a "Portrait Studio"].

It starts innocently enough. You make an appointment for a random Saturday morning in October to have four-month pictures of your child taken. Next thing you know, you're desperately striving to keep your children entertained and nondestructive because Buy Buy Baby overbooked and now you're waiting for some random ugly family to finish their ugly family photo shoot when all you want to do is jump in front of the camera and shout, "Stop! Just stop already! The world doesn't need your hideousness dedicated to film!" But, instead you start making promises.

"Antonio, if you're a good boy and smile for a picture, you might just get a TOY!" God, I'm such a whore. Why should a kid be rewarded for simply not being a jerk? Well, I don't know, but it was the straw I grasped when he started whining and we ran out of gummy fruit snacks.

So we were finally called in and we're already dying to leave, with the exception of my four-month-old, Nathan, who is the only one of the four of us blissfully unaware enough to be okay with the situation. In fact, he was a champ throughout. Smiling with little provocation, Nate was like one of the babies whose pictures they post outside the doctor's office of a super happy infant to create the illusion that going to the doctors is some sort of joygasm. In a word, he was an angel. Then it was time to take a family picture with Antonio.

Say what you will, at least the kids are smiling about something

Fifty years ago, when the movie Some Like it Hot was being filmed, writer/director Billy Wilder insisted that Jack Lemon and Tony Curtis nail each scene that included Marilyn Monroe on the first take. Why? Because Monroe was such a train wreck (pardon the pun, if you've seen the film) that whenever she successfully got through her lines, that was the take they were going with. So, in this case, Sonia and I were Jack and Tony, and Antonio, well, Antonio was Marilyn. the only difference was the blonde hair and unabashed alcoholism. All he had to do was smile once for 2-4 seconds. Hell, I'd even take one second. But no sooner did the cameras point at him then he launched into his infamous Ben Stein impression. True to our roles, Sonia and I kept iron-clad grins on the entire time. It was like the Miss America pageant, with no hopes of a crown to follow. I mean, tickling, a God damn tap-dancing Elmo, that weird vibrating tongue drum roll noise that all the store photogs seem to think works, even a whispered promise (read: begging) to get him a toy and a Swedish massage if he smiles. No dice. I desperately tried to conjure up an image or action that would wipe the stoic wall off his face. So I came up with a mental list of things Antonio would laugh at:

* Me getting hit in the face with a flying shoe
* Me getting hit in the balls with a flying shoe
* Himself peeing on the bathroom floor
* The sound of him farting in my face as I change his diaper at point-blank range

None of these were viable options in that moment. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the photographer (who I'm pretty sure was Tempestt Bledsoe of Cosby Show fame) worked Antonio into submission. She got the shot! At least she thought she did.

"Oh. No. Dad, it was you. You blinked," groaned Tempestt.

First of all, I'm not your dad. I don't know why all connoisseurs of the camera collectively have decided that this is accepted practice. If I wanted a girl calling me daddy, I'd wait another few years when my family angrily pins me down and forces me to conceive one because "there aren't enough females in this family." But, anyway....

So, ultimately it was I who ruined the one good shot. Fortunately for me, once Vanessa Huxtable broke the smile seal, she was able to squeeze out a few more mild ones. Of course, this was coupled with me intermittently tickling him and then quickly getting back into position, causing me to appear in a weird, hunched position in the final shot, making me look constipated. Not that I gave a shit at that point. I would gladly appear incontinent for generations to come if it meant us getting the hell out of there.

I spent the next hour and a half pushing Nate around the store so he'd sleep, holding an exhausted 30-pound Antonio at the same time (smiling can be quite tiring) while grimacing as I struggled to maneuver the stroller around crowds of impolite, unforgiving ignoramuses who I can only hope were there shopping for their less evil, pregnant friends. Why was I with both kids? Because Sonia had to go over the photo packages and Antonio flat out refused to stay with her. Yet he still managed to squeeze a Buzz Lightyear rocket toy out of it. Bravo, Marilyn. You've negotiated a better deal than most overpaid celebrities.

Till next time, be strong and stay sane. And if you laughed at this, forward it to a friend (or even an enemy. They like to laugh, too.)

-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
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