You Oughtta Be In Pictures -- Pretty Please!

On May 6 Melissa and I took baby Gideon to the mall to have his eight-week portraits made.

We have enjoyed snapping impromptu pictures of him at home, but every child deserves a professional portrait. If you rely entirely on amateur photography, you wind up ensnared in a web of lies when the child gets older. (“Yes, son, you were born with a giant thumb on your face. We, uh, had it surgically removed when you were five. This same brilliant Austrian surgeon stopped you from being so fuzzy, too.”)

Of course professional studios are just as bad as parents at perpetuating gender stereotypes. In addition to seeing the traditional male blues and female pinks, you’ll hear comments such as “Smile big for me, honey. Then make me a pot of coffee.”

Gideon himself behaved in a thoroughly unprofessional manner at the studio. He squirmed, pouted, and caterwauled. He was about as cooperative as Donald Trump’s hair.

It’s easy to make older kids smile, giggle, and guffaw. All you need is patented, outrageous humorous patter like “Do you think money grows on trees?,” “Put the lid back on the milk jug,” and “What are your intentions?”

Babies are subjected to a cascade of dumbed down utterances, such as “Who’s a pretty baby?,” “Kissy, kissy” and “Smile for the birdie.” The poor kid is probably thinking, “Wading pool? I’m in more danger from my gene pool!”

Of course an uncooperative baby is an embarrassment to his parents. Even though the photography studio staff dismisses the shenanigans as “all in a day’s work,” you still imagine a photographer dragging home at the end of the day, propping his feet up, opening a cold brew, and searching 500 channels for an infomercial about Learn Vasectomies At Home.

But parents should enjoy it while they can. If they misuse the photos, they may never have grandchildren to enjoy. Showing off the bearskin rug series to Junior’s girlfriend may just send the kid packing to the monastery.

We were told we could drive back to the mall another day, but with today’s exorbitant gasoline prices, I wasn’t going to vacate the premises, even if I had to make a tent from the “plus” sizes at Sears.

After killing an hour elsewhere in the mall, we returned to the studio. Gideon was more manageable. We got a beautiful closeup and a picture of him in a basket (although by this time, his parents were the real basket cases.)

We even got a family portrait. But by that time Melissa and I were so disheveled that Glen Campbell came by and offered to let us use the makeup artist he used for his DUI mug shot.

Even without a high pressure sales pitch, you feel guilty about not purchasing the entire package of photos. (“Children are our future -- and so are MasterCard bills.”) Parents splurging for the whole deal often leave an apology in their last will and testament. (“I know you were expecting my 401(k), but all I have is 8-by-10 glossies.”)

We finally got home with our photos. We had such grandiose plans for them, but we’re so far behind schedule, we’ll probably wind up sending them with Gideon’s graduation invitations. (“Go ahead and send bibs as graduation gifts. He’s drooling over redheads now.”)