YO MAMA: The one time you don’t want your baby to smile for the camera
“Hi, I need to get a passport photo for this little guy,” I said, gesturing at my year-and-a-half old son.
The photo centre clerk looked up from the boxes she was unpacking and deadpanned, “got snacks?”
There was a banana in the car. I told the clerk about the banana. She considered this information carefully.
“He has to sit still and keep his mouth shut,” she explained. “He can’t have his mouth open even a crack or the passport office will reject it.”
I got the sense that baby passport photos were not the clerk’s favourite activity. I understood. I could hardly get my son to look in the direction of a camera on command, much less sit still.
A photographer friend once told me that babies are way harder subjects than pets. And it seemed that both my photography friend and this clerk shared an industry secret: bribery with snacks is your best chance at a decent photo.
But the banana seemed like a terrible prop for a passport photo. I had visions of my son playing banana phone or waving the peel around like a maniac.
“Looks like we get to buy you a very special treat today,” I told the kid.
Off we went to find something tasty that wasn’t sticky, drippy or otherwise messy, and that, ideally, would melt in the kid’s closed mouth. We found some baby cheese puffs that were bite-sized and appeared to be comprised mostly of air. Bingo.
Back at the photo studio, the clerk had fastened a plastic child seat onto the swivel chair used for taking the passport photos. I buckled the kid in, gave him a cheese puff, and hovered nearby, slightly distrustful of the contraption my son was sitting in.
“Your hands can’t be in the photo,” the clerk said. “If they’re in the photo, the passport people reject it.”
I held my breath and backed out of the frame. The kid looked like he was sitting in one of those big film director’s chairs. He munched contentedly on the puff I’d given him and promptly stuck out his hand for more as if to say, “keep ‘em coming mom.”
“His hands can’t be in the photo either,” said the clerk.
“Let me guess,” I said. “If they’re in the photo the passport people reject it?”
In between handing my son cheese puffs, the clerk snapped away, hoping to catch the kid with his mouth shut and his hands down. I didn’t mention that his cheek was bulging out abnormally due to the mushy wad of cheese puffs. Would the photo be rejected if he had chipmunk cheeks?
The whole idea of my one-year-old getting his very own official passport seemed a little crazy. He was just a baby, after all. He couldn’t even wipe his own bottom, but he could get a passport? I didn’t understand why he couldn’t just travel under mine.
Eventually, the clerk decided to download the photos onto the computer to see if we had any keepers.
Nope. The kid’s hands were in the air and his mouth was agape. The photos kind of looked like a drunk guy’s mugshot.
“Let’s try again,” she said with a sigh.
I bent over to give the kid a pep talk.
“Ok buddy, arms at your sides,” I said, gently pressing his hands into his lap. To my utter surprise, he not only obliged but seemed poised to await further instructions.
“Now, sit still… ” I said, backing away. So far so good.
“Now, close your mouth.”
Right on cue, his little chin snapped up to attention.
CLICK!
“Got it,” the clerk said. “Now, if only all the babies were that good!”
What just happened? It seemed way too easy. All I had to do was ask him? Who was this cooperative human sitting before me in this ultra big boy chair? The clerk handed me the little wallet-sized photo and I couldn’t believe my eyes. He looked so mature. Maybe he was ready for his own passport after all.
— Charlotte Helston gave birth to her first child, a rambunctious little boy, in the spring of 2021. Yo Mama is her weekly reflection on the wild, exhilarating, beautiful, messy, awe-inspiring journey of parenthood.
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