Let Me Paint You a Picture

By Sean McVeigh

Having a new baby, there are certain things one must learn to accept. You are no longer the star of your own life. Now, your life is spent holding a spotlight on your child.

There are already some things I’ve had to put up with doing that I would have been diametrically opposed to just a few months ago.

My wife told me to keep last Wednesday open. That was the day we were going to take baby pictures. Great, I thought. I’d love to have some more pictures of my daughter. There was a catch, however … we were going to be in the pictures too.

I have always been anti-picture. I don’t know exactly what bothers me. When all is said and done, I usually like the pictures. It’s really just the process.

When my wife and I were getting married, I actually begged her not to get a wedding photographer. That is obviously not a battle I won. Now there are pictures from that amazing day all over my house. And don’t even get me started on Christmas card photos.

But this was something my wife really wanted. And if there is anything I have learned over my short few years of marriage, it’s: happy wife, happy life.

I could do this. I could take one for the team. All I needed to do was not be my normal sarcastic, jerk self on the day of pictures.

When we walked in, our photographer immediately allayed the worst of my fears. She was extremely chill and put me in a perfect frame of mind for this picturesque adventure.

Obviously, the baby was the star of the show. But when we got there, she was not in the best mood. (Did she inherit her father’s aversion to photography?) So the photographer decided to have the parents start.

There is just something about posed pictures that is so awkward and fake — which, I suppose, is kind of the point — that kills me inside.

“Look at the baby.”

“Look at me.”

“Smile.”

“Now smile while looking at the baby.”

All the while, my baby is screaming in my face. Smiling is not the typical facial expression I wear in that situation.

We started sitting on a couch. My wife and I sit on our couch all the time — it’s one of my favorite hobbies. We don’t usually sit holding and laying on each other though. Still, it wasn’t terrible. I followed my instructions to a T and thought I had powered through. Then the photographer moved the couch.

Perfect! Time for the baby solo shots. I’m done! Or so I thought.

“Ok, let’s get on the floor,” she said. “Everyone.”

I have a thing about adults being on the floor. Unless you are working out, playing with a child, fixing something under the sink, or on the beach, there is really no reason adults should be sitting on the ground.

But I put on a brave face and got down there because I am a good husband and father.

After the floor incident, the adult portion of the shoot was, mercifully, over.

After a brief pause to remedy a massive blowout (from the baby, not me), the photos continued, now appropriately focused on a very happy baby.

I’ve decided the whole picture ordeal really hinges on who is taking the pictures. Our photographer was fantastic. The whole thing felt relaxed — about as unforced as a photo shoot can possibly be.

We got the photos back the other day, and they look fantastic. I may be biased, but my daughter might be the cutest baby on the planet.

After scrolling through them, I realized something: I didn’t even look at a single photo I was in.

My daughter was the star of the show. Of course she was.

This is her show now.

I’m just here to make sure the show runs smoothly.