Santa, Baby

I've been having an inner debate for the last few weeks as we head into the full blown Christmas season: to have Harrison sit with Santa, or not to have him sit with Santa. It's a traditional American thing to do, I know, but in many ways it creeps me out. You go to the mall at this time of year and there is a line that stretches, seemingly to the horizon, of children with runny noses dressed in their Sunday best waiting to sit on the lap of a man their parents don't know who is dressed as a plump old elf. And then they have their photo taken with said stranger, and pass copies to all of their relatives who ooh and ahh over the cuteness of it all. If there is intelligent life on other planets, they probably avoid earth for reasons such as this!

Who is the man behind the mask? We all hope he's a nice grandfatherly type who finds this job something fun to break up the monotony of his retirement, or something along those lines. Do they do any sort of screening for the position? A background check? I know I must sound crazy and paranoid, but you never know who your neighbors really are, let alone the guy who plays Santa at the local shopping mall. We've all seen stories on the evening news about the guy/girl next door who turned out to be a murderer, child molester, etc. These things worry me now that I'm a mom...it turns out that motherhood makes you think twice about a lot of things that used to seem normal.

It also turns out that I'm not as cynical as I sound. While shopping yesterday with Harrison's Aunt Brooke, we ran into Santa. And there was no line at all, just one child ahead of us, and Harrison was the one with the runny nose. So I caved, and I now present to you, for your oohing and ahhing enjoyment, a photograph of Harrison sitting on Santa's lap, gazing with wonderment at his very bearded visage.





















Ooh! Ahh! He is so darned cute! I think he was actually trying to figure out a way to pilfer Santa's glasses, but to the naked (non-parental) eye he seems awe struck.

It wasn't so bad after all. I got over my fears of Santa being less-than-wholesome, and let my baby participate in this strange American tradition. It turns out that motherhood also teaches you to let go and enjoy the moment. He'll only be a baby once, after all.