So this past weekend, we headed out to a holiday brunch hosted by my husband’s employer, because we caught wind the big guy and his lady would be the guest of honor. And after the eggs and bacon we properly washed down, it was finally time to meet the man in red.
Being his first Christmas ever, baby Paul had first dibs on Santa’s lap. At first, he didn’t know what to expect. Who is this guy? Am I OK with this situation? What’s up with all the facial hair?
And while I was snapping photos and attempting to coax a smile out of baby Paul for posterity’s sake, I did her Paul whisper into Santa’s ear that he wanted a new convertible car seat, which is actually perfect since it’s exactly what he’s getting. (Let’s keep that a secret between you and I, just until tomorrow morning. Cool?)
But as his older sisters and brother approached the scene to also tell Santa their Christmas wishes, baby Paul had an extreme change of heart.
One minute Santa was OK.
And then, well, he wasn’t anymore. (Of course, I snapped a photo.)
Paul’s smile turned to sheer terror, and the magical Christmas moment we were having was gone before you could say HO HO HO. Fortunately, his sad face was short lived, and as soon as the group shot was complete, Paul was whisked away to the familiar arms of Daddy.
A photo for the record book.
Did you take your baby to meet Santa? How did that go?